Burning Daylight
by Gray-Rain Skies
Summary: [For Rachael] AU. Sooner or later, there's no escape from what's right in front of you. [ZexionDemyx]
1. Part I

For **tyco622**, my best friend.

'Kay. So, Rachael. Oh my goodness. Happy sixteenth birthday, with love! Ah, I'm so excited. You're completely awesome, and a kickass kind of person - and writer, if you'd _update_ (poke) - so I hope you have a blast. And _yes_, I'll have an actual gift-wrapped present for you, haha.

And secondly, oh my freakin' God, I hope you don't despise this. xD It's so, _so _long, y'know? So long that I had to split it into three parts. But it's _done_ now, and I hope you like it. There's Zemyx, like I promised, _and _Akuroku, because, frankly, I can't resist it. So, without further ado, if you're still reading my random tangent eating up more space on this page, please enjoy the story!

**Disclaimer**: Nah.

-- - --

Happiness was a particularly elusive thing.

Well, he thought so, anyway. So seldom was he truly overjoyed, and never did he allow himself a genuine smile, because he saw such acquaintances with excessive happiness pointless. He enjoyed instead the cool, sultry side of knowledge, where he could immerse himself for hours in texts, left alone to his own form of enjoyment, never bothered to engage in conversations or frivolities.

Really, he was only content when he was alone, and he found company to be a disdainful thing to have around, because people were rowdy, unbearable, and got in the way of his quest for knowledge. Thus, he never stayed in one place.

Change was his only true companion. By traveling frequently he learned, he experienced, and he didn't have to shoot the breeze, so to speak, with any pest of a person who thought they'd be a good scout that day and decide to take up a conversation with him while he was shopping for food, or paying for a book at the register, or just simply walking the streets. No, instead he could be by himself, live for himself, and settle comfortably within himself, with his hands on the wheel as he passed through a new town or with a book in his hands as he read far into the evening in the new hotel of the week.

This was the reason why he was now leaving his current residence, ignoring questioning glances sent his way, brushing off offerings of help – because _surely _he couldn't carry his own damn luggage with his frame so short or scrawny, correct? – as he jogged down the steps and breezed out of the lobby, dark hair falling over one eye and shielding him halfway from the impossibly nosy onlookers who wouldn't know common courtesy if it slapped them repeatedly across the face. He was sick to death already of the old surroundings and undulating seas of people, and the atmosphere in his room, he found, was just not right for losing himself deep in the summer nights to morbid tales of murder and mystery.

Of course, by the end of his stay he always had several things that didn't suit him, if only to serve as an excuse for his leaving, so that fact that his room was just not appropriate was not much of a surprise.

Dropping a cardboard box loaded with read-only-once or newly purchased tomes into the back of his trunk, he wiped his hands free of invisible dust and then turned briskly on his heel, footsteps measured, deep blue eyes sharp and uninterested. He walked straight past a stranger who'd lifted a hand and opened his mouth to address him, and he narrowed his eyes at the chimes singing cheerfully and announcing the opening of the door as he strolled across the carpet and towards the hall, only his suitcase needing to be retrieved now. The minutes were racing away underfoot, and soon enough only the open road would meet his eyes, no godforsaken little paradise to hold him back and no scout-like smiles to war against his patience.

He wasn't one for insincerities, and, as he found people to be the most impossibly cruel and insincere of all of God's creations – or whoever the hell created anything and everything; he was hardly a person of faith, instead a man of science and logic and _fact _– he thus wasn't one for people. Enough said, that was that, he was moving on.

And thankfully, as he crossed that lobby for the last time, himself struggling with a suitcase in hand as he kept his head bowed and didn't bother to memorize his three-star surroundings, he was, in fact, moving on.

The passenger seat open for his suitcase, he opened the door, threw the offensive luggage in, and just as quick shut the metal barrier and rounded the front of his automobile which he'd driven close for convenience that morning, keys clasped loosely in hand, expression one of suppressed pleasure. Hollow Bastion would be a fine new start, for he'd never been there before, and so the promise of it still rang true.

The car revving to life as he twisted the key into the ignition and slammed the door to his left closed, he rolled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and then tilted his head in a kind of pleasant awe, detached smile on his lips as looked at tiny little Twilight Town for the last time. It hadn't held what he was looking for, nothing did, and so he was moving on without remorse, the twilight bleeding as always across the sky and melting towards the horizon. He would miss the selfish beauty the town harbored for itself, with the clouds suspended heavily and broodingly in the sky, the cobblestone streets spreading anciently forward to touch the explosions of sun that coasted downwards at the day's end. But in the end, he was a scholar, a scientist, not a tortured artist, and so the beauty glanced off of him and he was turning the staring wheel and driving down the street, prepared to speed right past that horizon and get to where new opportunities awaited.

Hollow Bastion was only a twelve-hour drive away.

-- - --

He was hardly used to days not brought to life by seawater and screaming gulls. Having lived on Destiny Islands all of his life, Sora, upon moving to Hollow Bastion to attend the college of his dreams – literal translation being to reunite and possibly goof off with his cousin whom he hadn't seen in years – had been rudely awaken by the business-like atmosphere of the town's center, with market places alive and stale with small talk and packaged goods.

Wrinkling his nose now, he strolled with his hands in his pockets, tossing his head idly, eyes taking in the crowds and street vendors with calm disinterest.

It wasn't that he hated Hollow Bastion. He just missed home. An island boy at heart, he sometimes dreamed about the sand beneath his feet, the open sun brushing across his face, the water swirling around his hands as he bent down at the waist and tried to catch fish. There were waterways at Hollow Bastion, sure, and alleyways and ancient fortresses and high walls galore to provide entertainment to an adventurous mind like his, but there was no salt, no spray, no palm trees or paopu fruits, and he missed it. Sometimes mildly, oftentimes terribly.

He'd never really thought of the price of adventure until he'd taken a risk and had come to understand what leaving what you love behind truly meant.

"Sora! Hop to!"

Jerking his head up, his feet still carrying him and swerving him around crowds even as his mind wandered, he jumped in alarm when he realized he was about to walk into someone and skittered by fast, rubbing his head afterwards with a sheepish smile as he called his apologies. Then, looking ahead, he caught Roxas, his long-lost cousin oh-so dear to his heart, standing with one foot on his skateboard yards ahead, impatient look on his face as he rolled his eyes in exaggeration and then groaned, kicking off and starting back down the street.

Scowling a moment, he stuck his tongue out at the ill-tempered youth. Yes, _this _was the _darling _kin whom he'd dropped paradise for and had traveled miles in a gummi ship to see. Never mind that he left lifelong friends back home and the only memories he had left of his mother perched loyally on his bedroom desk in the form of picture frames. No, Roxas had to be a pissy, I-hate-the-world-screw-this-shit kind of character, who didn't give a damn about anyone and still held it against him that he had to put up Sora in his home.

Snorting, Sora then sighed and allowed himself a small smile. Well, you can't pick family, right? That one he and Roxas alike knew.

Jogging to catch up to his ever on the move cousin, he swerved around people with quick, half-hearted apologies, laughing somewhat as people brushed against him and shot him grumbled insults. It was another thing he missed about Destiny Islands, when trying to get wherever in the heart of Hollow Bastion; in his home, he knew people, and they were a friendly, fun-loving bunch. Here, people were stiff, dry, and always in a rush, so God help you if you got in their way, that was for sure.

Finally stumbling into an open square, Sora's eyes lit up, as he was witness to Roxas's rare displays of skill on his skateboard. No doubt bored waiting for his cousin to catch up, the multi-talented eighteen-year-old was now skating off of a nearby railing, flipping in the air and then landing with a flourish, starting over once more. People lounging around a fountain or talking in small crowds sometimes lifted their eyes to watch, too, occasional applause following a particularly daring move on the blond's part, and Sora felt immensely proud, even though Roxas could probably care less.

The problem was, Roxas just didn't _go _for things. He had limitless potential, and he just refused to grasp it, maybe because he felt he was better than recognition, probably because he didn't give a damn about other people's opinions of him. He did things _his _way, was infinitely stubborn, and didn't listen to others' opinions, only opting for his own. And Sora, being the extrovert and wanting to help everyone, only served to ruffle his feathers and stir up the boy's short temper.

Still, that didn't stop him from clapping and laughing right along with the crowd. He loved Roxas, regardless of the blond's feelings for him, and would do whatever he could to gain the boy's respect before his time's end in Hollow Bastion.

And hey, he still had three more years of college to go.

Leaning his elbows against one railing behind him, lounging comfortably as he watched Roxas become completely absorbed in his new sport, his eyes strayed just in time to catch the rather strange-looking fellow clad in a black cloak and with a head of oddly-styled dark hair stumble with books into the square, apparently on his way to somewhere in a very hurried fashion. And his path, executed with quick, calculated steps, brought him right into the way of Roxas's oncoming skateboard – and the blond, as always, was not paying attention.

"_Rox! _Look out!" Sora called, dashing forward hurriedly as both his cousin and the stranger glanced up, the blond looking startled, the other man not really seeming to have much of a reaction. Just in time, though, Roxas swerved out of the way, consequently nearly colliding with Sora, and as he tripped off of his skateboard the brown-haired youth caught him, laughing softly and pushing him away fast before the blond flipped.

"Sorry, man," he apologized then, turning towards the older male who was regarding the scene coolly, Roxas in the meantime paying him no mind as he bent over and brushed himself off. Turning to his cousin then, Sora sighed and elbowed him sharply, the blond looking up in agitation as he hissed a sharp, "_What?_" "We're sorry, _aren't _we, Roxas?"

"Whatever," he grunted noncommittally, waving his hand at the third figure and then turning around, bending down, and claiming his skateboard. Walking away without another comment, he left Sora on his own to walk home, and the brown-haired boy sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair.

"That Roxas," he murmured, and then he laughed softly, shaking his head. "Listen," he began, turning towards the other man, but he blinked in surprise when he found the previously occupied spot empty, the stranger already walking away. Whirling around, he watched wide-eyed as his head of dark hair disappeared in the shadows and then emerged further on in the crowds swarming the market-place, Sora running his hand again through his brown locks, he wordless for a few moments.

Then, sighing, he tilted his head back and rolled his eyes to the heavens, wishing dearly once more that he was home.

-- - --

Dropping his belongings carelessly with a sigh, he tossed his head, flicking his dark hair out of his vision for a moment, and trained his gaze on the wall, bangs falling back into place neatly over his right eye. So far, he could honestly say there was nothing to get attached to in the vicinity of Hollow Bastion, which was a good thing, for certain, because he didn't plan on taking up roots any time soon.

Of course, it was certainly more…surprising than any other place he'd been before, one could put delicately. That little hellion on a skateboard and his dimwit minion had made for an interesting five minutes of his life, which had as well been wasted so that he'd never get them back.

Falling back with a sigh into the cushioned chair, he leaned his head onto its back with a soft groan, eyes trained on the plain white of the ceiling. How _joyous_, to find a town as loud and headache-provoking as the previous one had been at daylight. Oh, he would _grow _to love _this _place.

Deciding, however, that his thoughts were far too sardonic for his weary mind to take so late into the evening, he leaned down and fished free a tome he'd been reading since yesterday, considerably thick in both pages and plot. Fingers idly turning the front cover for a moment, his sharp eyes catching the scrawled six-letter name _Zexion _neat in the upper right corner, he grunted and then opened cleanly to the middle of the text, picking up his spot almost immediately and settling comfortably into his chair soon after.

His life was ordinary, his frequent, obsessive trips to new and foreign places aside. He had no one to call when the nights grew restless and weary, only had the pages and sentences and dialogue of a new tome to engage him in activity. He was far from lonely, however, more of a creature of solitude than a glutton for attention, and so the excitement that registered in his existence was a bare minimum, which satisfied him, because inane behavior only served to agitate him.

He enjoyed calculations. He relished in facts. People themselves were far too unpredictable and unruly to manage, and so he just didn't bother, they a waste of his precious time, anyway. He always got what he was looking for from books, the small bit of satisfaction (barely a whisper in his body) which still managed to change his entire opinion of the day. And, as it was the minute, fragile things that counted to him, that was all he could ask for, the tiny, invaluable shift of mood that he could distinguish as pleasure enough for him.

Thus, he could bear long, silent evenings, such as the one that affected his small hotel room that night. The traffic of people far off celebrating in the square, he could keep his windows open, the curtains breezing slightly from the summer wind, and as he read he could glance up every so often and listen to things stir, or perhaps settle down, and he felt not the least bit disconcerted. Nights he liked best, because the darkness could be a familiar, comforting thing.

Eyes falling back to glance over lines and lines of words, he tilted his head in contemplation once and then sighed, with one hand snapping the text to a close and then resting it neatly in his lap. Leaning backwards then, he lifted one hand to his face and pressed his fingers against his forehead, staring deliberately at the wall branded with ugly, peeling wallpaper, his concentration eluding him. He didn't know what he wanted in Hollow Bastion, nor did he know why he'd decided to stay upon nearly getting run down by some miscreant on a skateboard, but, as of the moment, he wasn't satisfied. The nights seemed perfect yet still somewhat tiring, and so already something was wrong, was spurring him back towards the horizon.

Of course, he'd wait a week, see if maybe, by some slim, impossible chance, something could hold him to the crowded squares and dank alleyways of such a hopelessly large town, but the probability of something ever making him stay was far too unlikely for him to even joke about such. It was predestined that he would move on before he even entered the town, so he wondered why he bothered to find enjoyment outside the walls of the numerous hotels he stayed at. Was it because he knew, sooner or later, there would be no new place to go?

Whatever the reason, though, he did it, and he would do it tomorrow, the likelihood of getting crushed between crowds and shoved and trampled certain and very displeasing. He would need his rest for such tiresome, bothersome activity, too, so he slumped down, having not the energy to drag his feet towards the made bed in the corner and next to the window, and crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes.

In no time at all, he was asleep.

-- - --

"Sea salt ice cream?"

Waving his hand in impatience, he flicked oceanic eyes upwards once as the lanky, awkwardly graceful form of his best friend loomed over him, cunning grin in place, mischief flashing in his eyes oh-so green and beautiful. Grunting, tossing his gaze further on then, he leaned forward and looked broadly to his left, right arm falling to rest limply over his right thigh, feet resting on the steps leading up to the old barracks. He enjoyed this place; ancient legends of heartless and ghost stories of deceased soldiers made it an unpopular place, so privacy was assured.

"Care to tell me why you're in such a precious mood today, Roxy?"

"…ut up," he mumbled lazily, too careless to utter two words that would command the redhead to close his mouth. Amused at this most likely, the older male snorted and leaned down, ruffling his hair brutally as he then fell onto the steps beside Roxas, long legs stretching down the stairway, arms falling to hold his body up on either side of his torso.

Tilting his head back, glancing at the gray of the sky, Axel hummed contentedly as Roxas glanced over at him, bored expression remaining even as his eyes trailed in interest across the male's face. With his eyes closed, the redhead was smiling with satisfaction, ice creams melting in his right hand resting against the stair as his left brushed against the blond's waist.

Unexpectedly then, Axel laughed and opened one eye, opting to stare lazily at him. "Hey, stop checking me out. I feel so _embarrassed_."

Snorting, Roxas pushed him and then promptly fell against his chest, rolling his eyes as he finally retrieved the frozen snack and cuddled more comfortably into Axel's arms. "Please. You're an attention whore. What do _you _care if I look at you?"

"Y'sound _jealous_, Roxy," he purred happily, lifting a hand to stroke his blond locks as he leaned still against the stairs. "Am I not paying enough attention to you?" A suggestive grin played on his lips, and when Roxas looked up to catch it, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Idiot," he grunted, looking down and idly biting off a bit of popsicle, shivering afterwards as his teeth ached. Rolling the salty-sweet substance around in his mouth to lessen the throbbing sensation, too, he cast his gaze out across the expanse of Hollow Bastion, hating yet again the dull, dreary background of the ever-cloudy civilization.

Twilight Town had always been more colorful and beautiful, and it better suited his liking than the stiff Hollow Bastion did.

Swallowing at last and choosing his words carefully, he finally leaned heavily back against Axel with a sigh. "Sora…thinks I hate him," he said with difficulty, brows furrowing as he glanced down at his ice cream, misplaced anger making him glare at the innocent treat.

Barking a short laugh, Axel slung his arm under the blond's neck, pulling him close so that the redhead could lean down and brush his lips against Roxas's ear; a shiver of pleasure in him followed the redhead's actions. "Do ya _blame _him, Blondie?" he drawled playfully, taking a nip thereafter at Roxas's skin to distract him from his temper; it didn't work. Narrowing his eyes, the blond hissed out a frustrated breath, fingers tightening around the popsicle stick. "C'mon, you hardly say two _words _to the kid, besides ordering him around or calling him a doofus."

"_You _call him that, you moron," he snapped, jerking his head up to glower at the amused redhead now holding him captive.

"Yeah, but you silently agree, you know you do," he laughed, nuzzling his face into Roxas's locks of unruly hair.

Shaking his head and not even bothering to deign his childish teasing with a response, Roxas grunted and tilted his head to the side, concentrating on the rocks near his feet as he tried to formulate exactly what was bothering him about his situation with Sora into words. The good thing about Axel was, though hopelessly immature and self-absorbed, as well as sadistic and ever-amused when it came to him torturing the blond, he listened, and cared, and tried to help. That was more than anyone in his life had ever done for him – partly because he wouldn't let people get close to him, partly because he'd had an unbelievably shitty family – and he appreciated it more than Axel probably knew, simply because he just couldn't find the words to tell him.

Sighing now, he sucked in a breath, just trying to find the words to explain his frustrations, which was hard enough. Before he could even form a complete sentence, though, Axel's lips were tracing patterns along his neck, so that he yelped in alarm and jumped in his hold, forgotten ice cream falling to splatter on the stairway.

"St-_stop _that!" he hissed, jerking his head up, but Axel was looking thoroughly entertained at his reaction, Cheshire grin firmly in place. "I mean it. Cut it out."

"Didn't know you were so _sensitive_, Roxy," he purred, tilting his head and then lazily pressing his lips against Roxas's throat again, so that the blond blushed furiously and struggled against the arms folded across his stomach, pinning him down. "And hey," he whispered, smile evident in his voice as his breath tickled the blond's skin; swallowing painfully, Roxas tried to tilt his head away. "I have a solution for you."

Lips quivering in embarrassment, he narrowed his eyes and swallowed, a stammered, "Wh-what?" tumbling past his lips and making him feel all the more foolish.

Axel, glancing up, eyes glimmering with some secret he was withholding, parted his lips in a lazy grin, and then he tilted his head coyly, tension lingering in the air as he prepared to utter his form of a _solution _to the blond. Suddenly, Roxas wasn't so sure he wanted to hear it. "You should have sex."

Blinking, utterly dumbfounded, the blond stared at the man holding him captive for a long, long moment, wondering if he'd heard correctly. But no. He was right. He didn't want to hear it. He shouldn't have asked.

"_WHAT?!_" he exploded, jerking angrily in the redhead's arms as he burst out laughing and buried his face in Roxas's shoulder. "Are you _kidding _me?! Did you think I'd actually _agree _to such an asinine solution?!"

"Hey," he laughed, grinning happily. "It's completely reasonable."

"What part of I should have sex with you because I don't get along with my cousin is _reasonable_?! It doesn't even make _sense_!"

"Well _jeez_, Roxy. I _am _your _boyfriend_."

"For two freakin' _months_," he muttered, glowering darkly at the redhead. "And you've been my best friend _longer_. So I _know _how you can be."

Taking on a look of mock hurt, Axel nuzzled his face against Roxas's in an attempt to soften him, the blond snarling in retort. Lips ghosting against his finally, Axel grinned and leaned back, Roxas blinking in shock for a moment before narrowing his eyes once more. "No," he growled.

"To be fair, I've been in love with you for, like, _ever_, Roxy."

"And I haven't," he drawled dully, point blank.

Another look of mock hurt washed across Axel's countenance. "How cruel. You've broken my heart, Roxy. I'll never recover."

Snorting, Roxas lifted his chin, grabbed the redhead's hair gently, and pulled his face close, capturing his lips briefly in a passionate kiss. As he pulled away, too, face slightly colored with red, breath coming noticeably short, Axel had a look of severe satisfaction on his face, eyes glazed over.

"Oh look," he drawled, tilting his head as blond bangs fell into his eyes. "You've recovered."

Blinking, Axel shook his head. "Hey! Not fair!"

"And _anyway_," Roxas snorted, waving his hand in front of Axel's face to both gain his attention and possibly agitate him; from the way his green eyes crossed and a frown fell upon his lips, he decided that at least the agitation worked. "I didn't find out that I was bi until about that time. So gimme a break, huh? Whereas you…well, you've been flaming since birth."

Axel slapped his palm against the blond's forehead, and Roxas laughed, mood from earlier now completely dissipated. Moving his legs out from their position, he grunted and pushed away from the redhead's loosened hold, standing and shaking out his limbs as he ran one hand through his mussed locks habitually.

Glancing over his shoulder, sighing at the redhead who was still sitting and glancing up at him in interest, he rolled his eyes. "No undressing me with your eyes, perv."

Instantaneously, a lecherous grin crossed his features. "Well _there's _a thought."

Unable to help himself, he laughed softly and turned, shoving his hands into his pockets as Axel labored to his feet. He didn't have to wait long, either, before the redhead casually slung his arm over the blond's shoulders, leaning down to capture his lips thereafter in a long-lasting kiss that Roxas closed his eyes to and smiled against. No matter what his best friend did to irritate him so, he always made him happy in the end.

Pulling away, Axel sighed. "Sora still doesn't know…does he?" he murmured into the blond's ear, affectionately nestling his nose against the side of his head afterwards. Shoulders falling, eyes lowering tiredly, Roxas shrugged and pulled away, walking on with his shoulders hunched and his hands still in his pockets. "You gonna tell him?" the redhead inquired curiously, not insulted at all, as he hastened his step and quickly matched the blond's stride.

"When I can talk to him," he murmured tiredly, tilting his head and scanning broadly the surroundings of the alleyway they were walking into. "If it comes up."

Chuckling softly, Axel landed his hand heavily on Roxas's head and ruffled his locks of hair in an adoring fashion. "Just be nice. Hard as it may be for you, I'm sure Sora would appreciate you not giving him death glares for every little thing he does."

"I do the same to _everyone_. _You _get the brunt of it," he argued bitterly.

Mildly, Axel responded, "Does he know that, though?" patting his head then happily and leaning down at the waist as he walked on, trying to catch a glimpse of Roxas's countenance.

Glancing at him idly, he scowled weakly and then looked away, smile spreading across his lips soon after impossible to detain. "_No_…"

"Well there you go, genius. So quit being a sissy and talk to the kid."

Glaring at him impatiently now, he raised his brows incredulously when Axel laughed and took off running. Gritting his teeth, rolling his eyes in annoyance, he shouted his best friend's name and chased after him, ready to draw blood as a result of the redhead's insults.

Still, it wasn't long before he was laughing, the chase turned more into a game than anything else.

-- - --

Summer was a living dream in Hollow Bastion. Lots of newcomers, he found, didn't enjoy the rush of people, the skies threatening rain but always bothering to hold back until a more convenient time, the ability to pursue anything without being stopped abruptly that was represented in the area. They talked of prettier worlds beyond the gray-washed walls and swirling skies, of sunsets suspended instead of muted by drizzling rain, of palm trees waving instead of wooden planks boarding up closed businesses. But he, an inhabitant of the merchant town where cultures clashed and opportunities presented themselves, loved Hollow Bastion, and didn't mind at all that, come spring, summer, fall, or winter, the sun hardly showed its face.

He more preferred water and cool temperatures than the blazing sun, anyhow.

Plus, summer was the most flourishing of times in any part of the town, be it its heart, be it the outskirts. And in the outskirts he rested presently, plastic chair grounded permanently into the earth as his form of business stand, his body lounging in the seat lazily as he rested his sitar against his legs, head bent pleasantly, fingers strumming cords idly as he warmed up his instrument.

"Demyx," a quiet voice said gently, and momentarily he raised his eyes, attentions not thoroughly absorbed in his instrument yet.

Gaze trailing slightly to his left to see the girl so much younger than he poised artistically, back facing the street as she looked out onto the dreary bay, he smiled as he recognized her as Naminé, the petite, blonde artist girl whom he'd befriended shortly after he'd taken up root next to her for the sake of street-performing. Theirs was a kind of symbiotic relationship, too, he attracting people their ways with his music so that they as well fell in love with the beauty of her art, and she looking out for him as a loyal companion and supplying him with conversation when the days were bad.

"Yeah?" he asked innocently now, head tilting, sea green eyes watching as she smiled in suppressed amusement and glanced down at her palette of colors.

"Your munny can," she reminded gently, eyes now trailing to her canvas in thought. "You forgot to put it out again."

Flushing, he stuttered, "O-oh. _Right_," and hurriedly reached into the deep pockets of his jacket, withdrawing the small, beat-up can he used to collect any tips charitable strangers might grant him. Surprisingly enough, his business was fairly generous currency-wise, as people seemed to regard him as gifted with music. Honestly, he didn't have any opinion of himself; he just loved to play. And, whether he was good or bad, he'd play every day, just because it helped him meet new people and never had him stressing over any troubles.

Of course, the munny _did _help, especially when he could hardly hold a job with his other limited skills.

"Oh! Naminé…" he replied absently, leaning down to place the can at his feet and then tapping it affectionately with his hand. Sitting abruptly back up, eager to tune his sitar, he looked off to the blonde who was not looking straight at him but was listening all the same, evidence of this the patient smile on his lips as she swirled her paintbrush with practiced twirls on the palette. "Is Roxas coming today? I thought, y'know, that maybe he'd visit and---"

She giggled softly and looked over at him playfully, hand stilled. "You want him to sing again, don't you?"

Fidgeting in embarrassment, he offered a sheepish smile. "That's not so bad, right? He's got such a nice voice."

Sighing wearily, Naminé smiled and shrugged, lifting her paintbrush idly as she tilted her head in thought. "Honestly, Demyx, I just don't know with Roxas. He had so much fun a few days ago, dancing with those people---"

"---and you," he interjected with a laugh of amusement, remembering how red Naminé had colored from embarrassment when she'd been dragged away from her paints for the purpose of dancing in front of so many strangers with her best friend.

Now she laughed mildly, nodding. "And me. And he had _so_ much fun, and I'm sure he'd _love _to do it again, but he's just too stubborn to admit that he liked something new." Sighing heavily, she shook her head and then pressed the tip of her brush against the canvas, eyes flicking for a moment towards the bay. "Roxas does what he wants when he wants to, y'know?"

Nodding, slight disappointment settling within him, Demyx smiled sadly at the strings of his instrument. "Well, maybe next time," he replied brightly, forced cheer making him pluck a sour note accidentally. Wincing, he shook himself of the feeling then, wanting to play his best as always, and so he drew his sitar closer and bent his head down once more, Naminé already focused entirely on her paints when he started strumming a few simple notes, the melodies intertwining and growing more complex as time wore on.

He never noticed the crowds that gathered until he glanced up for a momentary intake of breath and saw them all there, entranced, smiling, occasionally applauding when he grinned back in embarrassment and rubbed the back of his head. Such was happening now, Demyx coloring pleasantly as he blinked back at the numerous faces he didn't know, laughing softly to himself as children ran forward with munny handed over by their parents to place into the can.

He loved people. He loved sharing in people's happiness. And so, to know that the thing he loved to do most – playing the sitar – brought happiness to anyone and everyone who bothered to stand in a circle and watch him perform…it made him glow with such contentedness and enjoyment, because it was through them that he felt truly gifted. The compilations of music his fingers plucked on a whim were merely sounds until people came to appreciate them; only then, truly, were they masterpieces.

Tilting his head, dirty-blond locks of his hair falling obtrusively into his salty-water gaze, he closed his eyes for a short moment and grinned, laughing against clenched teeth as his onlookers applauded and laughed along with him, just relishing in the moment. If travelers could see this side of Hollow Bastion, immerse themselves in the activities and interests of street vendors and their arts, he was sure they'd find the old, rundown barracks a more enthralling place to vacation. As it was, people hardly found beauty when it was hidden from sight, because the prospect of working for it and looking to discover it was less than ideal.

Blinking his eyes open now, ready to strum a new song and perhaps get the whole crowd dancing like it had at one point a week ago, when Roxas was there, clapping his hands, switching from foot to foot, and laughing more exuberantly than Demyx had ever seen as he sang frivolous little tunes, the dirty-blond-haired youth bowed his head a fraction and then jerked it back to attention, surprise making him blink quite rapidly. A new face, not necessarily surprising, now held his complete focus, but the fact that the small youth was in such a hurry to get somewhere, face buried completely in the pages of his book, interested him so. Tilting his head, he played with a whim in his head for a short time, not even noticing the shift of the crowd as they waited for him impatiently to begin again, and then Demyx straightened his back and squared his shoulders, grinning wide.

"Excuse me, sir!"

The young man kept on walking even as heads turned, attention rapt and absorbed on his near-finished novel, and Demyx wrinkled his nose in good humor, scratching the side of it as he didn't allow the male's disregard ruffle him. Leaning over his sitar instead, he cocked his head fully to the side, and Naminé, turned from her painting, caught his gaze momentarily and arched her brows delicately, amused smile soft and almost imperceptible on her pale lips. She was always amused by his sudden, spontaneous actions.

"Excuse me! You, reading the book!" He made sure to raise his voice a whole fraction this time, and tittering giggles rippled through the crowd as his voice rang out, some squirming in embarrassment at his boldness, others enjoying the scene. And the only person that mattered, the anonymous sir with the book in his hand, paused mid-step and cautiously lifted his head from his text, looking first to his right and then swinging his gaze to the left, dark blue eyes immediately locking on Demyx's.

A shiver of something curling and then shooting through his body as the one visible eye narrowed dangerously, Demyx felt his smile weaken in size under the stranger's harsh scrutiny, almost detecting the heightened irritation of the man rolling off of his shoulders in waves. Unwilling to be so discouraged, though, Demyx brightened his smile once more and plucked a chord of his instrument mildly, his manner open and friendly.

"Would you like a song dedicated to you?"

Foolish giggles trailed the fringes of the crowd and slowly rippled towards its center, Naminé even allowing herself to smile mildly at the pure-hearted gesture as she tilted her head the dark-haired youth's way. Demyx, still watching him intently, nervously even, though the smile on his face masked his anxiety, noted that the man had now rounded to face him, bangs cloaking one blue eye in a curtain and countenance persistently stoic.

Tilting his head lazily to the side to take in the crowd momentarily, he then let his head fall in a kind of exhaustion, lifting his chin minutely so that his gaze trained fully on the book in his hands as he turned a page absently. "I hardly waste my time," he drawled uncaringly, and at the tone Demyx flinched, hearing a much more scathing rejection in the tone rather than in solely the words, "on the flight of fancies of mediocre street performers such as yourself." Then, without another comment, with not so much as a mutely smug glance up from his text, he turned on his heel and continued on the path he'd previously taken up, leaving a horrified silence in his wake.

Cringing, hunching his shoulders sheepishly, glancing down at his hands as the words rebounded in his memory, he, for the first moment of his life, doubted himself. All because of that one man's words, which he'd accidentally taken to heart due to his nature, he wondered if he could trust his fingers to create beautiful sounds simply by plucking strings, and so he hesitated in playing, mouth twitching into a kind of sad frown, eyes boring nervously onto the pavement.

But, as his fingertips by chance ghosted over the strings and the sounds he so loved floated from his sitar to his ears, the line of his mouth curved upwards in a light-hearted, almost romantic kind of smile, and he laughed softly, taking up playing so immediately that it was almost as if in his mind that scene had never actually happened. He found that he should hardly worry over the words of a stranger, one whom he'd most likely never see again, and so he didn't bother to reflect on the scathing gibes and instead completely immersed himself in music.

As easily as that, too, the sounds, beautiful and gentle to his ears as he closed his eyes to listen, soothed the injuries away.

-- - --

Arms spread wide, poised foot moving to step exactly in front of the other, process repeating itself slowly in a heel-touching-toe kind of balance, he tilted his head and heaved a tired sigh, bored with his day so quickly. Walking along the highest wall of Hollow Bastion, one that looked expansively out across the whole area, along the road leading towards the marketplace, and immediately down into the bay that the high walls dropped into just wasn't dangerous enough to capture his full attention, it seemed, and so, perching his hands moodily on his hips, he hung his head and shifted his feet apart, kicking at a pebble as he opted to stand normally.

Roxas, again, wanted nothing to do with him today.

He was getting tired of this dancing-on-eggshells relationship he had with his kin. Sure, he'd just dropped in to say hello so suddenly when he'd moved from Destiny Islands to Hollow Bastion a year ago, it for the purpose of salvaging some small relationship with the boy as he spent his four years in college. But it had been Roxas's insistence entirely that he take up room in the boy's lavish apartment, though he'd argued fervently for himself that he could surely find decent board…somewhere. The blond, he'd soon found, though, was as stubborn as he was temperamental, and so there was no refusing, and in the span of one short visit his bags had been stuffed into a spare room and Sora had been left alone on the couch, Roxas leaving him be as he strode out of his abode and didn't reappear for hours afterwards.

"And this is the kid who has trust issues," he muttered to himself, laughing softly as he swung his arms at his side and the leapt onto the cobblestone road. Then, dragging his hand through his wind-ruffled locks of hair, he shifted step and started town the trailing road that led towards the town's center, his time not much better spent anywhere else, anyway.

"_He-ey! _Sora!"

Jerking his head off to the side in mild surprise, he let his arm fall and a smile break out on his countenance as he caught sight of old acquaintances – more of Roxas's friends than his own – whom he'd learned had come to visit just a few days ago. Stopping, lifting his hand to wave a wild greeting to the pack of three, he laughed and waited as Hayner, Pence, and Olette stumbled down from the top of the craggy hill that signified Hollow Bastion's end, weeds uprooted and pebbles dislodged from place as they stumbled along.

Finally, laughing at the thrill of adventure that rush no doubt gave him, Hayner stumbled over-foot and moved to embrace him, Sora clapping him on the back with a laugh.

"How've you _been_?" he asked jovially as he pulled away, tilting his head and crossing his arms as he took up a questioning stance. Hayner, on his part, laughed and rubbed the back of his head as he moved to stand with his friends who'd finally caught up, all three of them taking in his appearance as Sora grinned nervously under the scrutiny.

Finally, Olette clapped her hands together and smiled. "Well, we're all a little tired from the train ride. Who'd have thought it would take so many stops to get here!" Closing her eyes, she giggled somewhat dreamily, the familiar cheer he remembered of her still present.

"Well, have…you seen Roxas?" Sora inquired somewhat delicately, moving his gaze to his feet as he scuffed at the cobblestones, leg swinging broadly back and forth as he tried to distract his uneasiness.

"Well…" Pence began, and Sora glanced up with an arched brow, tilting his head. The stout boy smiled a wide, nervous smile at him for a second and then jerked his gaze down, laughing weakly as he scratched at his cheek. "Ya see, Roxas…he's…"

"_Changed_," Hayner spat bluntly, bitterly, and Sora sighed with a smile, nodding as he rested his hands behind his head. Even as Olette hissed, "_Hayner!_" and Pence argued, "Hey, man, that's not true," Sora felt that they both knew that Roxas had distanced himself from almost everyone around him, and he himself couldn't even deny it as truth.

"Don't hold it against Roxas, though," Sora said happily enough, walking around them as he shot each puzzled gaze an optimistic look and started back along his path, noting that they were following his pace a bit dubiously. "He's just adjusted to a life he never wanted. He hasn't been in your world since he was fifteen, remember? That's almost four years for him." Tilting his head back, he looked peacefully up at the sky, the grays and whites nearly blending into the lightest blue, and he sighed reminiscently, remembering the times when Roxas and he had laughed together on Sunset Hill, before his parents had ripped him so unsuspectingly from the only world he'd loved. "Give him time, and cut him a little slack. Maybe, if you try hard enough, he'll warm up to you guys!"

"Has he warmed up to _you _yet?" came Hayner's voice, cutting in words, loathing in sound. It was enough to bring Sora to a startled stop, his arms easing from their place at the base of his head, his gaze trailing to glance over his shoulder as he blinked at their faces, taking in Olette's encouraging nod and hopeful smile, Pence's confused countenance, and Hayner's doubt and lack of faith. Sighing, wishing he could give them the right answer, he let his stare fall then to the cobblestones, eyes sad, laugh cheerless.

"Not yet," he murmured with a shrug, and, without waiting for smug words and pitying comments, he started on again, waving over his shoulder momentarily and then shoving both hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

"And I'm his cousin," he whispered softly, words no doubt mirroring their thoughts exactly. As selfish a feeling as it was, he felt rather cheated, to realize that he'd made as much progress with his kin as the friends the blond had left behind when he was fifteen years of age had. He, willing to give up going to school with Riku and…and _Kairi_ on his home island, with the people he loved and cherished, had no more warmed Roxas's heart than anyone else had.

Letting his head fall wearily, he felt sad more than anything else.

It was just…he wanted common ground with his cousin again. He wanted smiles and endless days, memories stirred up by pointlessly long conversations, hysterical laughter sending the both of them tumbling to the floor as they mused on some ridiculously funny situation. Roxas was the closest thing he had to a brother. In fact, he was the only family he had. And, once upon a time, the near-sophomore in college, with the tousled blond locks and oceanic blue eyes, with the soft smile that showed just how kind-hearted he could be, had been Sora's best friend in the world.

Now, Roxas was nothing but a ghost in the apartment and a face in the crowds, without the time to spare his cousin a greeting.

Shouldering his way through the crowds now as he reminisced, countenance wincing as he was brutally shoved to the sides and his feet were trampled, Sora sighed, hopeful smile dancing at his mouth's corners. A year had gained him nothing, had reaped him only few grains of conversation from the impossibly silent and stoic blond with whom he now shared his entire life, but this summer going into their sophomore year, which had started not even a month ago and still held so much promise, could possibly change the relationship between them. He'd hold onto that dream anyway, and he'd try for happiness, because friendship was dear to him, and family was even more important.

Weaving through the homing districts as his thoughts of kinship drove him forward, Sora hiked the hill that led him on a cobblestone path towards his the apartment buildings, such skyscrapers surrounding him on both sides on this Illusory Lane. Finally turning into the one he'd called his home for a good long time now, door giving at his pushing and leading into the lobby, he shoved his hands into his pockets and headed towards the stairwell, the steps leading him in a winding fashion to the third floor, feet then carrying him the short distance to room thirteen. Fishing the key out of his pocket, idly unlocking the barrier, he opened the door and walked inside, closing it behind him.

"Rox?" he called absently, thumb running along the smooth, metallic surface of his key, eyes trailing along the white walls that remained in place as he carried on, interest lingering on pictures of the blond smiling, one of the few testaments remaining as evidence to Roxas's brief period of happiness. "Roxas, are you home yet?"

"Quit shouting, Sora. I heard you the first time," a voice grumbled from the living room, and, bowing his head, he smiled softly, eyes softening from under his brown locks.

"'Kay," he commented gently, slipping off his sneakers a little later and kicking them aside, socks softly padding against the pale carpet as he walked into the room Roxas was now lounging in, spread over the couch, one arm thrown over its back as the other rested behind his head, gaze trained on the television.

Settling himself into the chair a way's off from Roxas's seat, Sora propped is elbows on his thighs, pleasant smile in place as he let his gaze glance off of the glowing screen, eyes not taking in the fleeting images. "Have a good day?"

"Eh," Roxas grumbled, shifting and sighing heavily as he brought his arm thrown over the couch's back towards his body and drove his fingers through his hair. "…guess."

Nodding gently, Sora let his head fall, squared his shoulders, and pushed off of his chair, eyes hesitantly flicking towards his cousin. Roxas, staring persistently at the television, shifted, and briefly the blond's stare met his, countenance as passive as ever. Smiling softly, Sora said nothing, and instead he ducked his head down once more and turned on his heel, padding towards the kitchen, ready to prepare dinner.

Roxas was in a mild enough mood, it seemed. That was good enough for him.

-- - --

The café was noisy and utterly packed, and with disgust he lifted his eyes from his text for the third time within the half-hour. Normally he prided himself with being able to take any situation with a cool mindset, able to read on crowded buses, in the train stations, when he was walking through bustling streets. But here was the exception, the impasse that thwarted his efforts towards mild pleasure, and his irritation was mounting with every abrupt, boisterous interruption that occurred.

He felt no remorse in leaving, then, when the pleasant-faced woman clad in a pink dress arrived with his bill, which he paid as he rose to his feet, slapping munny unceremoniously on top of the receipt and grasping his new tome carefully in his left hand, to be opened and read the moment he stepped into open air. Letting the waitress's goodbyes glance off of his back as he turned and walked away, too, he allowed the click of his boots and whisper of his cloak to lead him towards the doorway that trilled bells when someone beat him to the entrance and walked inside. Striding quickly out when the stranger was courteous – or just mindless – enough to hold the glass barrier ajar for his oncoming body, he spared no form of gratitude and continued forth, eyes downcast now, bangs obstructing the vision of his right eye as he casually turned to the page he'd left off on with his right hand and took up reading, body slipping and threading around hasty forms his vision sharply caught as if he blended into the shadows himself. Being near invisible was an advantage he greatly relished in, as confrontation only served to frustrate him and his apathy was better contained when he wasn't troubled to exercise it. People were bothersome to him. All he needed was his texts, wrought with characters he wouldn't mind seeing alive or dead, rich with mysteries and murder and thrills his less-than-enthralling life rather lacked.

His books were a safe haven that granted passage to intelligence, a one-way ticket out of stupidity.

Boots striking against the cobblestones, body swallowed into the push and pull of the center's crowds as he merely weaved around nameless, faceless forms, attentions trained raptly on pages and words, he cared not for where the current was taking him, only traveled along with indigo eyes uninterested and dull. The only thing that attracted his attention was the bristling sound of paper turned beneath his fingers, and the only destination he cared for was where the stereotypical dark, dangerous tunnel led the daring, borderline stupid character next, and if death or heroics thus lurked around the corner.

Oh, how his adrenaline was just racing from anticipation.

Well, he was in the mood for something amusing, something to smirk at, so he rather hoped the moron died; it would serve him right, really, for searching out a psychopath on his own in the foreboding setting of a waterway.

He never figured out the fate of the oh-so unintelligent one, to his slight displeasure; for, as he was walking, his course had taken him far beyond the marketplace without him being aware of such, and music, soft and sweet and subtle, had coaxed his attentions away from the _gripping _thriller in his grasp and had urged him to lift his eyes in curiosity. The arts hardly interested him, because he saw no merit in wasting time idling the day away with pointless objects, dreaming of unattainable futures that would no sooner crush a dreamer than grant them their greatest desires. But the sound that melted away the common noise so effectively, that was tangible and luxurious in form, stopped him momentarily in his tracks, head tilting to the right, dark locks falling slightly out of his vision.

Tucking the book into the folds of his cloak, he took up his pace again, keeping his steps calculated and his movements slow. He wasn't too interested in the mystery of the music's origin, of that he was certain, and so he had no qualms with his slow going, arms crossed casually over his chest as he lowered his gaze once more, blue stare boring into the material of his boots.

Laughter and clapping attracted his attention again as he continued to climb the hill, and as he forced through the ring of bodies towering over his smaller form, slightly agitated as he did so, he allowed the feeling of surprise to flash through his body as he rooted himself to an open space, visible eye widening a fraction as his strands of hair fell back into place and made him half-way blind.

It was that imbecile, the mediocre guitar-whatever player who'd so stupidly posed the idea of dedicating to _him_, a passing _stranger_, some frivolous little tune which his mind had convinced him was a carefully crafted song. And the music he was playing, not the thoughtlessly-strummed strings from before, was, in a simple, overused word, beautiful. Perfect, even, almost magical in quality from the way it stirred thousand-watt smiles to foreign faces and stirred stationery people's feet to life, twirling them about in dance. Head cocked to the side in slight astonishment, hand moving to hold his chin in thoughtful musing as he stared straight at the bowed form of the musician, he was sincerely surprised that his judge of character had been wrong. No doubt the lad was an idiot, of course, but the fact that he could give life to such harmonies and melodies intertwined left him inarticulate.

The song ended before his thoughts did, but the emptiness throbbing in his chest at the absence of sound brought him from the recesses of his mind, he blinking as he stepped away, half hiding behind the human masses pushing and shoving to request a song, speak with the musician boy, or reward his efforts with a monetary prize. He played with the idea of doing such, the munny in his pocket burning a whole against his thigh as he tapped his finger against his lower lip, but then he shrugged the notion off, thinking that he was guiltless, so long as that sea-green stare didn't single out his presence.

The excuse that the youth could search him out, should he move from his spot, kept him firmly in place, too, though he looked around broadly so as to appear like he wasn't all that absorbed in the playing. During the brief break of a performance, where the dirty-blond-haired male shared his apparent innocent charm with his admirers, his efforts to remain detached subsequently attracted one of two familiar stares, though it was not the musician who was eyeing him curiously. The artist, his petite little partner in the money-making industry, had looked over her shoulder at him as she paused in her work, dainty smile on her lips, gaze knowing as she flicked it from him to what's-his-face. She said nothing, but he message was clear. She didn't buy what he was selling.

Narrowing his gaze under her intrusive scrutiny, he removed his stare from hers and looked ahead, taking one step back as he did so, ready to leave at will. The flood of music paralyzed his movements, though, and unfortunately the sudden break in the crowd shocked him, so that when that youth with the ridiculous instrument, naïve nature, and beautiful musical talent glanced up, he was rendered helpless underneath the shocked gaze, unable to shift foot, unable to turn his head, unable to offer a biting retort.

For one long, drawn-out moment, his eyes widened under the mesmerizing spell he was bound into, and then the musician smiled, said not a word, and lowered his head as his fingers toyed with the strings, tempo quickening, beat livening, mood lightening. And still Zexion stayed in place, though as those around him got caught up in celebration, laughing and clapping once more, he leaned back easily and watched, calm mood dulling his previously agitated demeanor.

He allowed himself to get caught up in the spell, and he simply watched, the whispers of a smile just barely hinted on his lips.

-- - --

"Sun…" he mumbled tiredly, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes momentarily and then glumly opting to stare out the window. "Christ, just a _little _sunshine, hmm?"

He rooted himself before the glass, eyes narrowed impatiently, shoulders stiff as his gaze flicked indifferently after the raindrops chasing down the cold, wind-battered panes, wetness trailing in visible paths and meshing together inevitably as it collected against the glass. It was times like these, when he was trying to avoid the vacancy and frostiness in his oceanic gaze reflected back to him, staring down onto the darkening pavement that dropped off from the spiraling heights of the apartment building, that he longed again for warmth and sunsets, such luxuries Twilight Town provided loyally every day. Shivering, teeth chattering as he rubbed at his arms covered by his casual jacket, he tore his frustrated stare from the spell cast by the window and turned, trudging over to where Sora had slumped over onto the couch again, half on, half off the seat as he breathed deeply in sleep, lost to reality as he fought for warmth within the cushions.

Because the boy was in an unconscious state, too, Roxas allowed himself a reminiscent smile, toes curling into the carpet as he leaned back on his heels, arms crossed over his chest, brow arched sarcastically. He'd roused Sora for a purpose, had dragged him out of bed – disregarding both the hour and the weather – so that they could trudge the abandoned streets of Hollow Bastion together for once, and his cousin had so thoughtlessly fallen asleep on him. In so many aspects, he was still the innocent island boy full of hopes and dreams he'd brought with him from his home. He was still soft, happy, cheerful.

He wasn't hardened like Roxas, who'd closed himself up at the first threat of emotional injury.

Collapsing into the seat Sora normally occupied now, deciding to allow the teen a few more blessed moments of slumber, the blond leaned back, propped his feet onto the coffee table, and trailed his gaze towards the wall, which was bare and uninteresting to his sight. These were the walls, the boring, plain, picture-less walls, he'd erected for himself when his parents had abandoned him mere days after his sixteenth birthday, lost in a town he'd hated instantly upon arrival a year ago, without the security to support himself. He'd had to abandon the house, his possessions, and the priceless valuables Sora had brought over from Destiny Islands on summer visits when he'd still been living in Twilight Town. Everything he'd grown to get used to over the year he lost, and he hit rock bottom, his trust for others following the same exact route. He spoke to no one, smiled for no one, cared for no one.

His greatest moments of happiness were when he was completely alone.

Naminé was the only one for a long time who didn't let him push her away. She a girl in all of his classes at the school he'd continued to go to, (despite his poverty, despite his new home on the streets) refused to shy away when his once gentler attitude froze over, no matter if he scared her or not. And her efforts were commendable, that she tried so hard to befriend him, worried over his constantly black and blue hands, and shared her lunch with him so he wouldn't have to resort to terrorizing his peers just so he could have enough money to buy himself lunch. But Naminé wasn't the first person he'd warmed up to. In fact, he would've just continually pushed her away until she broke and gave up, he never tiring from such efforts.

Truthfully, Axel, then one of his co-workers who'd taken an interest in his bitter outlook on life and his cruel treatment of those who tried to get to know him, was his first real friend, simply because he never backed down. Naminé, for all her soft words and healing touches, never told him off quite like Axel managed.

Laughing at the thought, bowing his head, the blond realized that he was lucky to have found the redhead, despite all of his…_quirks_.

There was a lot for which Roxas was grateful of Axel; but when the time came for his confessions, when he was brave enough to show the redhead how much he truly cared, Axel would know, if he didn't already.

Grunting, tilting his head tiredly to the side, Roxas forced out an exhausted breath. He'd idled enough minutes away dwelling in the past. Pulling himself to his feet decidedly, he grumbled as he stretched his tautened leg muscles and then trudged the short walk to the couch, lowering his gaze to catch Sora mumble some indiscernible something, sprawled across the couch on his right sight, left arm and leg brushing against the carpet as he slept on. Smirking softly, scoffing a small laugh, the blond lifted his foot and kicked his cousin gently – but not _too _gently – in the stomach, the teen jerking awake as a consequence with a gasp.

"Wh-hnn-what?" he spluttered unintelligibly, and Roxas snorted in good humor as Sora fell off of the couch and onto the seat of his pants, shaking his head in surprise.

"Let's go, stupid," he drawled as he looked over his shoulder with a lopsided grin, and for a long second Sora merely stared after him, looking greatly confused. At last, however, as he slowly drew himself up to his feet, first tucking his knees beneath him, then planting his hands on his thighs as he vaulted himself up, he started snickering softly, good mood as always at hand.

"You really scared me there, Rox," his cousin teased, mocking himself more than anything as he grinned broadly and carefully maneuvered himself around the blond's body, apparently wanting to keep himself mindful and not accidentally bump into Roxas. Hesitating, however, the blond lifted his hand and let it hover by Sora's shoulder, wanting to clap him on the back, to compliment him for something, to insult him even to keep open the opportunity for conversation.

On last minute impulse, though, he lifted his hand higher and ruffled his cousin's locks of unruly brown hair, the strands coarse beneath his fingertips, opposing the softness of Roxas's blond locks and thus chalking up on the list more differences resting between them.

Sending him a surprised look as Roxas walked on, Sora touched his head, blinking, wordless. As the blond moved to impatiently held the door open, though, slipping his sneakers on last minute and then training his gaze outside as he kept his stare glowering on the open hall in embarrassment, not used to open displays of familial – or _any _– affection, he jumped when Sora laughed, and he flicked his gaze towards the nineteen-year-old, only months older than himself, who was scratching at his cheek absently while bearing a thousand-watt smile.

"So where're we going?" Sora ventured to ask, knowing better than to bring up a topic that so obviously embarrassed him and opting to keep the mood light. A grateful grin almost touching his lips, he allowed for a lopsided smile instead, closing the door behind him as he strode out and fell beside Sora, hands shoved into his pockets, head bowed uninterestedly as the carpet trailed underneath him.

"Wherever," he mumbled, fingertips running along the cool metal of the spare key in his pocket, the one that was twin to Sora's. "Your choice," he added then, tone more gentle.

"Are…" Sora hesitated, uncertain, and then, as Roxas caught with his peripheral vision, he nodded confidently. "Are there docks here?"

Lifting his head in surprise, the blond flicked his gaze towards his cousin, a smile flickering at his mouth's corners. "_Yeah_…"

Excitedly, Sora turned to him now, blue eyes brilliant, grin hopeful. "Fishing?"

Snorting a laugh, Roxas ducked his head down to hide his amusement, hands moving deep into his pockets, blond bangs falling into his vision. Sora was still so childish, so naïve, so like the cousin he'd always looked up to and admired. So, in that aspect, fate was looking out for them, it seemed. Sora was not yet slipping farther and farther from reach.

"Fishing," he said contentedly, and with that Sora glanced at him with a devilish grin, taking off in a run that signified the start of a race. There was allowance for him to only stand and watch, the game not so open of an invitation, and he could stand on the fringe and watch his chances for reconciliation with his cousin fade to gray and disappear.

Instead, he finally allowed himself a whole-hearted grin, and he took off running, wanting to see if Sora was still as fast as he used to be.

-- - --

His life achieved perfection in the spot looking out onto the bay, where he could strum his chords without a care and share experiences with new people day by day. It was his own little shining utopia, seeming radiant in its simplicity consisting of a beaten-up chair stationed into ground that was nothing more than a patch of weeds, but he thought it was beautiful in its own way, with the wind breezing by and the music ever flowing.

So, the fact that Axel was insulting his personal rendezvous at the present as he tried to coax a very pissed-off Roxas into his hold had him pouting quite unhappily.

"Well, I like it here!" he whined in response to Axel's condescending response, and for a moment the redhead glanced over at him with sarcastic amusement, turning away soon enough with a casual flick of his wrist. "And if you don't like it, you can leave, you know!" he huffed indignantly, sitar juggling alarmingly between his legs before he lurched and caught it, pressing it to his chest as he glowered at his friend while simultaneously worrying over the instrument.

Scoffing, Axel struggled with the persistent blond in his grasp, smirking as he pressed his arm against Roxas's stomach and forced his head into a bowed position with his free hand. "As much as I'd _love _to frequent places classier than this patch of dirt here, Dem," he sneered, green eyes glittering as the sitarist let out an offended breath, "Roxy here promised me a song with his oh-so lovely voice, and _I _want to hear it."

"I did not _promise _you _anything_, you goddamned---"

"Temper, temper," he teased as he bowed his head down, nuzzling his face against the blond's cheek and thus provoking the poor, captured teen to thrash in the older male's hold, legitimate snarls tearing from his throat as he practically clawed at Axel's eyes.

Smugly smiling as Axel had quite a deal of difficulty handling his enraged boyfriend, Demyx trailed his gaze sideways, catching sight of Naminé. She was holding herself away from the two, smiling placidly as she tilted her head and no doubt searched for something to take from their interaction and then turn into a painting. Naminé's greatest inspiration, after all, was Roxas, she'd always told him. He was her first real friend.

"'m not friggin' _singing_! For the last _time_, Axel, get your perverted hands _off _me!"

"But I _like _to touch you, Roxy," the redhead purred coyly, and as Demyx, who'd removed his questioning stare from the blonde artist to his left, watched the struggle with interest, he noticed Roxas stiffen in embarrassment and even blush as he attempted to escape Axel's prying hold. Uttering no words at the moment, undoubtedly speechless from mild mortification, the blond finally managed to push his friend's hands away from his stomach and crouched down, slipping from the redhead's grasp immediately after and tripping away, maneuvering himself around Naminé once he'd gained distance and placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Keep this psycho away from me," he ordered of her, hiding warily behind her frame as he narrowed his eyes. The sheer absurdity caused the girl to burst into soft giggles, too, and Demyx grinned widely, strumming a light-hearted tune on his instrument as Axel crossed his arms in impatience, tilting his head to the side as he crossed his arms.

"Oh, but you sang for _Naminé_," he growled, a protective note catching in his words. At the light in his eyes, too, Demyx caught the poor blonde trapped in between the males shift uncomfortably, glancing over her shoulder at last to silently ask Roxas for help. Wringing her hands in alarm, she bit her lip, and the sitarist smiled to see the hard, closed-off eighteen-year-old weaken under her pleading, so that he finally sighed impatiently and grudgingly pushed away from her, not even meeting Axel's eyes as he stomped over to where Demyx now sat.

"Play something," he grumbled with a dark, loathing tone. "I'll pick up."

"_See?_" Axel sang in a sweet voice. "It's not so ha---"

"As of right now, I'm not talking to the jackass across from me," Roxas announced loudly in interruption, and Demyx laughed, Naminé herself smiling; the redhead, in reaction, leaned back on his heels and arched his brows in surprise, sarcastic grin a little delayed in coming.

"Oh," he finally drawled, leaning forward arrogantly, movements fluid as his hands remained stayed in his pockets and his chin tilted upwards, leering smile on his countenance and eyes brilliant with mischief, "so _I'm _the bad guy."

"You always are, Axel!" Demyx chirped cheerily, and the blond at his side bowed his head to hide his smile, covering up the action by pointedly burying his hands in his pockets, frame relaxed, eyes trained on the tops of his shoes.

Straightening, the redhead rolled his eyes, removing his right hand to run it tiredly through his hair, and the sitarist, blowing offensive dirty-blond locks from his vision, concentrated all of his attentions then on his musical instrument. Gingerly playing with a few strings at first, he continued until he had comfortably immersed himself into the beginning measure of the song toying around with his mind.

Glancing up cautiously, he caught Roxas staring off into nothing, counting the beats with the twitch of his fingers and slight movement of his lips, and, assured, Demyx lowered his soft gaze onto the ground, his blond comrade's voice suddenly filling his ears as the song radiating from his sitar came to life.

An excited rush raced through him at the recognition of talent. Roxas, though coarse and guarded on the exterior, had a hidden gem of musical talent, he a diamond in the rough with a voice soft as an angel's. The blond did, admittedly, confess to feeling embarrassment for his voice, he always fidgeting under the compliments he received and dodging glances when people tried to catch his eye and cheer him on, but Demyx felt that it was one of the purest, most innocent sounds he'd ever heard. If Roxas were more confident, more prideful of his talents, he knew the blond would recognize such. As it was, it was on rare occasion that the teenager parted his lips and blessed his surroundings with song, and that he was able to experience such more than most made Demyx exuberant with joy.

The applause tended to startle Roxas more than even himself, and as the cheers rose up now, whistles and laughter and clapping sounding from the crowd he again hadn't realized had collected, the blond at his side gasped and glanced up, somewhat choking on his modesty and surprise. Smiling cheerfully, he caught the blond fumble, at a loss for a response, and noticed that he was searching out a route of escape, always one to flee when found in an overwhelming situation.

Following his line of vision when the blond stiffened uncertainly, he caught Axel casting a withering glance at the throbbing, pushing mass of people who'd gathered on the dirt path before them, arms crossed in annoyance over his chest. No doubt he was indignant at the knowledge that he alone hadn't been able to witness Roxas's obvious talent, and instead a good number of Hollow Bastion's had to watch right alongside him.

Scoffing in agitation now, Roxas clenched his fists and started off, Demyx yelping in alarm when he started walking away. "H-hey, _Rox_as! Aren't you gonna---?"

"'m goin' _home_," he muttered, throwing his arm up in an annoyed wave, cutting off the sitarist's sentence while simultaneously cutting down his hopes. Pouting glumly, keeping his sea-green eyes trained on the teen's back as the blond shoved his hands into his pockets apathetically, signaling that their calls and cheers could just glance off of him for all he cared, Demyx sighed regretfully. He could be such a difficult person.

He was pleasantly surprised, though, when Axel caught the blond before he could walk off completely and disappear from sight. Slinging his arm around the boy's shoulder, bending low to whisper into his ear despite the perilous pitch of Roxas's fist towards his skull, he affectionately touched the boy's left hip with his right hand as he smiled and said whatever form of congratulations he thought was due to cheer the blond. And from the agitated bowing of his head, the exaggerated batting away he commenced in doing to dislodge Axel's hands from around him, and the twist out of the redhead's arms as he grudgingly looked away with his cheeks colored and trudged back to his original spot beside Demyx, the musician gathered that Roxas had been easily enough persuaded by the now triumphantly grinning redhead to continue singing.

And he smiled happily his thanks, Roxas tossing him a look to continue and inspiring his music to flow.

-- - --

It was not an obsession, that he whole-heartedly insisted to himself. Obsessions required care, reliance on the object of desire. He, however, remained willfully apathetic, only taking such a diversion in his regular route every day because the music remained faithfully foreign and pleasant.

The musician was nothing to him.

Honestly, the strangely-upbeat sitarist only provided background melodies to his musings, so that he could take up a spot and read contentedly away from the uproarious crowd that so rapidly cluttered in the same spot daily. He cared not that every so often his laughter trilled in the open air in an infectious quality, paid no attention to the way he welcomed everyone into his conversations and spoke of himself in a sincere, albeit modest, light. Such characteristics were simple acts to him, of that he was assured, so when his sharp eyes developed the tendency to stray from his reading whenever the musician spoke in that ebullient tone, he corrected himself with bitter reprimands, finding it ludicrous that he should even act interested in the mere pleasantries exchanged between musician and entourage.

As much as he fought to remain withdrawn every day his calculated step brought him to his regular spot, however, he found himself keying in on every new detail, noticing things out of place or particularly striking. As was the case now, when settling stubbornly on the farthest spot away from the writhing mass of onlookers, where he drew himself up tall, extended his book comfortably before him, and scanned briefly the familiar persons of the artist and the musician, only to find a third, quite unwelcome, body. Eyes narrowed, mouth pursed, he snapped the book shut and momentarily tucked it safely within his dark outer garments, then moving his pensive stare back to solve the mystery that was the blond youth.

He seemed, to Zexion's small, hardly existent satisfaction, highly uncomfortable with his position beside the happily chattering musician, taking the time to glower pointedly at all watching whom he could see. Messy blond bangs that fell into eyes as cold and unforgiving as an ocean were tousled away momentarily from his vision by a frustrated hand, and he gritted his teeth, biting some retort that had the effect that the sitarist should get on with it already.

Zexion blinked in surprise as he watched the addressed male glance up, idly realizing that he'd frequented the spot for the past four days of his one week stay – disregarding his arrival date – and he still hadn't gathered the man's name. However, he brushed aside the minute desire to hear it spoken as he watched the youth with dirty-blond hair (styled in an impossibly ridiculous fashion) then grin sheepishly, almost foolishly, in response to his companion's snap, and he felt his steely eyes narrow viciously when the musician leaned over and affectionately tousled the boy's locks of hair. It was nothing of consequence, he bothered to assure himself as he watched, but the agitation within him increasing at the musician's open display of fondness seemed real enough to feed his discomforts.

It was when the blond glanced up again with a look of utmost annoyance and forced himself away from under the musician's hand that he finally recognized the youth. As if he couldn't be more displeased, his temper waned considerably at the remembrance, and the lips he pursed curled into a scowl, dark-colored bangs falling into his eye once more to signify his darkened mood. He held no neutral feelings for the boy standing before the audience; instead, he rather despised the blond.

His recognition of the skateboarding miscreant should've been persuasion enough for him to gather up his person and leave. Admittedly, he was well on his way to doing such, fishing out the book hidden in the depths of his coat while casting his hardened stare away from such a display of idiocy he didn't know why he'd allowed himself to get absorbed in, when the first soft strains of music caught him by surprise and he stilled in his actions, glancing up again. The sitarist, head bowed and loving smile on his lips, had his concentrations back on focus with the instrument he so seemed to cherish, and the blond, relieved of his impatience with a calm expression washed across his countenance, held himself back on his heels as he avoided the eyes of all onlookers, parted his lips, and began to sing.

A presence brushed against him and bothered his privacy as he watched, but Zexion felt himself to be too awed by the display of raw talent on both ends to be bothered with the minor distraction. Thumb running circles on the cover of his book, analytical stare measuring every pulse of sound and reaction from the musicians, he felt his gaze widen a fraction, only half hidden by his veil of hair.

"Amazing, aren't they?" a voice said cheerfully, and due to such surprise he jerked his head downwards to the right, at first catching sight of only a shock of brown hair. The male, however, similar in height to himself, finally glanced over with a compassionate smile, and Zexion felt another rush of recognition race through his body, though he said not a word, spared not a greeting. Wanting not to even be bothered by the talkative brat, he turned his head away, training his newly narrowed stare back onto the performers.

"The singer," the boy continued softly, heedless of Zexion's efforts to ignore him, probably aware that he was more-so talking to himself than anyone else, "is my cousin, Roxas. 'Course," he said with a laugh, but Zexion ignored the slightly sad note in it, "I didn't know he was so good, because he doesn't tell me much. He's so secretive."

The teen's presence was grating on his nerves, especially as he was trying to listen to the notes of the sitarist. Shifting impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest as he huffed out a frustrated sigh, book tucked under one arm, he fixated his stare ahead and tried to make himself forget the other male's presence.

"And Demyx, well, I don't know him that well," the boy continued, and suddenly Zexion's eyes were wide with disbelief, his attentions fully on the words that the stranger beside him was speaking, "but he comes here every day to play that sitar of his. Turns out, he never was fit for the business world – not a fighter or something – and so he plays every day to reach his dream. He wants to become a musician so badly, but on his own terms." Glancing sidelong at Zexion, he smiled happily, youthfulness vibrant in his eyes and warmth glowing from his countenance. "He's a regular optimist," he claimed, and Zexion shifted his attention slightly to the boy, flicking his eyes to dark, cloudless-sky's blue and away again.

The music died away when he finally glanced ahead once more, applause and cheers livening the patch of ground they stood on as the dirty-blond-haired youth, this Demyx, bowed his head humbly and smiled in embarrassment. And the boy called Roxas crossed his arms and rolled his eyes at the excitement, huffing softly as he only spared the onlookers indifference.

"Roxas!" the boy beside him cried so suddenly when the uproar died down, so that Zexion jumped in surprise and the crowds shifted away. Dread blossoming within him in a whispering way as the eyes from those the center of attention immediately locked on their position, he flicked his stare downwards and took up reading the book in his grasp as the youthful teen beside him laughed and ran forward, the blond he'd so raucously addressed stuttering in surprise upon sight of him.

Clenching the book covers apprehensively between his hands as he held up the façade that he was merely reading, he wondered if he'd truly get away unnoticed, if the sitarist was oblivious enough to just look right on by him. It was what he hoped, because he needed not the patronizing remarks of what a _loyal fan _he was to such "mediocre flights of fancies," as he'd said to some effect to the musician days upon days ago. He'd much rather get out scot-free, allowed to slip back unnoticed on following occasions and then leave unmissed and forgotten about.

"Oh! Book guy!"

Cringing, squaring his shoulders in impatience as his efforts to remain unseen were dashed to hell, he glanced up with a reproachful stare, watching with mild satisfaction when the musician Demyx flinched.

"H…hi," the sitarist finished lamely, awkwardly half-rising from his seat as he deliberated extending some kind of warm greeting and just as quickly decided not to, settling back into his chair nervously. Fingers drumming on his instrument, he gave a hesitant smile, dirty-blond strands falling into his eyes and remaining when he was too self-conscious to brush them away.

Uttering a contemptuous noise, Zexion snapped the newly opened book in his possession to a close, right hand then holding it more tightly within his grip as he tossed his head and ground his boots into the dust. Bowing his head and letting darkened bangs swish into his line of vision and at last settle comfortably over his right eye, he spared not a comment and instead headed directly away from all of them, homeward bound in his destination.

"A-at least…" came the musician's voice, weak in confidence as he stuttered but still beautiful in sound; footsteps stilling, dust rising up with the emphatic swish of his cloak and then settling down, he sighed and with exaggeration tilted his head to the right, staring straight ahead, humoring the pathetic excuse for a man by listening. "A-at least…you came back!" The call was chipper, alluringly persuasive to Zexion's ears, and a pleasuring feeling crawled along his arms and towards his neck, so that he was truthfully embarrassed to meet this Demyx's eyes. Instead, he nodded a wordless reply, one not guaranteed to be caught by sea green gems and a romantic smile, and spurred his feet into a calculated stride, mind dwelling on the curious feeling that soft, admiring voice had stirred within him once heard.

He dared not deliberate on it further until he was well on his way into the heart of town, but, upon tucking the book into the folds of his jacket and rolling back the sleeve cloaking his right arm, he found goose-bumps trailing patterns along his skin.

-- - --

End of part one. Please review!


	2. Part II

Ah, yay! I'm glad this story, despite the chapter length, seems to be going over well. Thanks for reading so far, and I hope you like this update, too.

**Disclaimer**: No.

-- - --

Folding his legs and tucking them closer to his body, ruffling his hair impatiently with his hands as he stared at the group massed before him, he winced, the discomfort surrounding them raising to extreme levels. Quite honestly, at first he'd thought it was a blessing, to see Hayner, Pence, and Olette sight-seeing the vast array of merchant stalls, all laughter and smiles, and he'd tugged on his cousin's arm happily, calling after them. Now, they were spread about across various boxes shoved off and forgotten in an alleyway, no one truly meeting anyone's eyes, conversation stale and silent as chatter from crowds murmured far beyond the exit of their temporary hang-out.

And no one…was trying…at all.

Sighing at last, unable to stand the oppressive silence a moment longer and wanting only for some kind of breakthrough, he turned to his cousin, tilting his head, smiling hesitantly.

"Rox?" His voice came in a hushed murmur, his attempts strict in trying not to capture too much extra attention from the trio gathered close together. He wasn't there to force together people not compatible, as if he was some kind of self-appointed match-maker for broken friendships. Rather, he just wanted to spend time with old acquaintances and the cousin he'd meant to waste the whole day with on leisurely activities. "You okay with this?" he asked apologetically, clearly implying that, if this was too difficult for the blond, they could leave at any time.

Having clearly caught Sora's words, too, Roxas glanced up, apathetic gaze skating his countenance for a moment, the line of his mouth twitching in contemplation as he tried to figure what it was he truly wanted to do with the rest of his day. And then the boy tilted his head and smiled softly, the action hesitant, yes, but somewhat warm, and Sora couldn't help but be cheered by seeing such a thing.

Pushing out of the corner of his seat, hopping down from the high box which he'd claimed, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said nothing as he turned his back on the friends he'd once been so close to. Following his cousin's example, only sliding down more carefully onto the ground, Sora turned sadly to the three pairs of eyes that had glanced over to watch their movement curiously – and, in Hayner's case, indignantly – and he lowered his gaze slightly in humility, cautious smile on his lips.

"Well, guys, we're gonna go, okay? It was great talking to you, really. Hope to see you around!" Raising his hand, he grinned in a somewhat cheesy fashion and gave a half wave, lingering in his steps as he waited to see if they would reply.

Exchanging uncertain glances, both Pence and Olette shifted uncomfortably, the green-eyed brunette swinging her feet and hunching her shoulders awkwardly, the stout boy beside her rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to look at them. Coaxed by the silence at last, both mumbled a good-bye, only Pence waving, and Sora sighed regrettably, nodding in acceptance. Stepping back a few inches, he turned abruptly on his heels.

"Yeah, have the time of your _life_, Roxas!" Hayner called after he'd walked a few feet towards the blond waiting expectantly in the same spot the brown-haired teen had left him. "Great to see you're still the same insensitive bastard we had to force ourselves to like!"

Stiffening, Sora stared at the back of his cousin's head as a slap resounded behind him, Olette hissing at the boy a sharp reprimand as he grumbled in response. Roxas, in reaction, twitched, hands fisted and shaking at his sides, head bowed and tilted somewhat to the right, but he never uttered a sound, instead standing patiently in the spot he was rooted to, reigning in the rage that no doubt was churning in his stomach.

Sora, however, was not going to let Hayner's comments slide, no matter how wounded the boy was. He was a good person, Sora _knew _that, and he wasn't going to walk away with that impression of his cousin's former best friend ingrained in his mind.

"Hayner," he murmured softly, casting a glance over his shoulder, eyes soft and sympathetic even when the caustic words directed towards Roxas were injurious to his heart, "please take that back. If anything, this is my fault, not his."

"Sora."

Blinking, surprise making his attention trail ahead of him, he caught his cousin staring directly at him, his back now turned on the alleyway's entrance, his hands shoved into his pockets as he idly glanced down a moment and kicked at a can that rested at its feet. The clattering noise of it bouncing and tumbling across the ground was the only break of silence occurring between their group of five, and as Roxas glanced up, eyes first training on the three faces of his past, soft recognition lessening the scowl that had made its way past his attempts towards apathy, he finally looked for a long time at Sora, and he shifted nervously, fiddling with his hands.

A sigh whispered past the blond's lips, and then a scoff, and then, much to his immense shock, Roxas was chuckling as he lifted his hand and scratched at the side of his nose. The sound was bitter, an insincere grasp at mirth, but cruelty didn't sound from its depths, and anger seemed to have relinquished its hold from his shoulders and countenance for the most part.

"Your fault," he muttered, letting his head fall back, eyes scanning the darkness that crept forth always from the clouds above. "Right." Lowering his head then, oceanic stare curiously capturing Sora's bemused gaze, he let his lips tilt upwards in a crook half-smile. "You dumbass," he muttered, eyes softening. "What're you thinking, blaming yourself? God, you always have to see the good in everyone but you."

Sora blinked. There was affection in Roxas's tone, he knew it. The blond was honestly regarding him without a note of scorn in his voice, without eyes customarily narrowed and words burning with sarcasm. Instead, his cousin was almost giving a true, genuine smile, something Sora hadn't seen in years and years; and, at first, he merely rubbed the back of his head modestly, unsure of what to think as the silence passed and the trio of friends behind the pair looked on in honest bewilderment. At last, though, all he could do was laugh cheerfully, which he did, linking his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes and shrugged the worries off of his shoulders.

"Force of habit," he teased gently, and then he was watching Roxas roll his eyes and beckon impatiently with his hand, motioning for the brown-haired teen to walk out of the alleyway. Obediently Sora obeyed, shooting the hesitant blond an encouraging smile, which Roxas caught, reacted to by shifting uncomfortably, and then looked away from with a heavy sigh, fisting his hands in his hair grudgingly.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered under his breath, forced grin keeping his lips tilted slightly upwards, and, relieved, Sora continued on to linger outside of the alleyway.

Feet scuffing against unworn cobblestones as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall face of a small building, he inclined his head and let fall his brown bangs into his eyes, gentle smile in place. It was more appropriate, to have Roxas fight his own battles, and so he'd wait patiently for their words to finish, however long it would be. Either Roxas would come out with renewed friends…or he wouldn't.

Whatever the outcome, though, Sora knew his cousin would be content, and that was all he asked for in the end.

-- - --

The downpour had caught him unawares.

He hadn't paid much heed to the contented rumbling in the distant, it merely a familiar greeting to his day as he settled into his chair, faithful instrument resting against his knees. Even when the sky began to spit soft pearls of water from the swirling heavens, he hadn't found himself fretting, though Naminé, who'd as well decided to stand by the side of the road and express her artistic sense, was battling with herself, sometimes unpacking her things and lifting her brush to the canvas, other times pursing her lips and leaning down to pack her materials away.

It just seemed like another ordinary day in Hollow Bastion, the mood melancholy, the scenery dreary, overcast, and heavy.

So when the sky opened up and washed over them a harshly pounding rainfall, lightning staggering across the heavens and startling Naminé out of her senses, both shared a look proclaiming their utter shock and then gathered their valuables, taking off in different directions upon sparing short farewells. And that was what he was doing at the present, sitar strapped across his back as he covered his head with his arms and raced down the path towards the center of town, his house a far greater distance from where he was currently running than would've liked he at the moment.

Yelping sharply when the thunder crashed and lightning lashed imposingly from above, he quickly decided that running through the deserted streets even a few more feet would be a fool's move. So, upon last minute impulse, he swerved to his right, a café he'd caught sight of looming like some kind of shining beacon of hope to his panic-stricken mind and rain-soaked frame. Throwing his arms out wildly, he stormed through the unlocked doors, breathless, dripping, shaking from the cold, and upon looking up he cringed at the scattered, bewildered stares focused on him. Laughing belatedly in embarrassment, scratching at his cheek as he averted his eyes, he trudged with sopping shoes towards a table, shivering as he slipped the sitar to the side of his person and then collapsed into the chair.

He paid nothing but his sitar any attention for several moments after his frantic entrance, worrying over the instrument like it was the only thing in his life that truly mattered. Fingers gingerly touching upon every inch of the sitar's body, he inspected the strings and checked for water damage; finally he sighed in relief and glanced up slightly, only to see dark legs standing some way off, one foot tapping impatiently. Lifting his attention fully, he was startled to see the dark-haired man who so often now came to watch him play, arms crossed over his chest, one visible eye narrowed as his countenance remained unrelentingly sour.

"U-uh…" he stammered, at a loss for words at both the male's striking visage and look of impatience trained solely on him. Gulping, swallowing as his lips trembled from nerves and the cold, he bowed his head and tugged at one of his soaked sleeves, eyes downcast, he at a loss for what the stranger wanted.

"Fool," he muttered softly, and Demyx glanced up in alarm, sea green eyes widened incredulously as the man tilted his head and swept his gaze swiftly across the table. Following his gaze hesitantly, he looked at the table to see several books scattered over it and a coffee slowly staining the top with a ring of dark liquid.

Startling in embarrassment, he cried, "O-_oh_!" and fumbled to rise from his seat, one hand at the last minute clutching the instrument to his chest as the other steadied himself on the back of his chair. "I-I'm so _sorry_! I didn't…I-I mean, I…I _swear _I didn't---"

"Hardly matters now," the man replied coarsely, and, wide-eyed, Demyx jerked his head up, lips still trembling as the man slipped his gloved hand over the table and walked to a chair directly across from where the sitarist was now standing, he elegantly settling himself into the seat and drawing his possessions closer to his body. "You're a _mess_." His tone was contemptuous, visible eye flicking to no doubt take in Demyx's disgraceful appearance in disgust, and sheepishly, tiredly, the dirty-blond-haired musician fell back in his own chair, head bowing in shame, wet bangs plastering over his forehead.

"I'm _so _sorry," he lamented, placing his folded hands gingerly on the table, waiting a few seconds before he nervously took up twiddling his fingers. "Honest, I-I didn't mean to take your seat. I wasn't paying attention and---"

"That much is evident," his newly-made companion drawled, and, sucking in his breath in surprise, Demyx glanced up, stare met by nothing more than the scene of the dark-haired male diligently reading, not even caring enough to look at him while he drilled off insults. "It's not as if you seem like the more intellectual of our race."

Eyes narrowing, he crossed his arms stubbornly. "H-_hey_! Just because I stole your seat _doesn't _mean that you can…t-treat me…that _way_?" he finished lamely, cringing under the furious gaze now catching his widened eyes. Slumping in his chair, allowing his arms to fall limp at his sides, he let his chin fall and mumbled a, "Sorry," fingers delicately placing themselves at the corner of the glass table and rubbing self-conscious circles at the surface.

"You're pathetic," was the only response he received, the words muttered and distracted as another page in his book turned and scratched against the oppressive silence falling between the pair.

Eyes focusing on his lap, lips twisting unconsciously as he tried to rein his sadness in, Demyx automatically reached for his instrument, the panacea for any form of injury ever cut into him. Thoughtlessly he began to strum a song, not considering the reactions of the few gathered in the café in search of comfort, and his shoulders tautened from grief and hurt began to relax, gaze lifting from the ground and warming slowly.

"You're playing." The voice registered in his ears, distracting him, and a sour note made him wince momentarily as he glanced up without warning. Finally, opening one eye hesitantly, he stared at the man who'd so far had nothing pleasant at all to say to him. Now, he was watching with the utmost interest, head tilted to the side as his bangs fell slightly away from his veiled eye, the darkness that cloaked him contrasting greatly against the cheery white of the café that built up a foundation all around them. And, curiously enough, the hard line he'd always worn on his lips for the whole time Demyx had watched him had lessened.

"U-um…" Blushing, both from pleasure at being noticed in a better light by the exotic man before him and from embarrassment at being caught resorting to nothing more than his own emotional therapy, he ducked his head down again, having found it immensely difficult to look into the stranger's sharp, dark, calculating eyes. "S-sorry. I didn't think that…" Cringing, he sighed. "Right. I didn't think. I'm really sorry for disturbing you with my noise."

"You really are quite a fool," came the mumbled response, and Demyx glanced up, this time completely baffled. What did he want from him, truly? Did everything he do serve to agitate the person across from him? "Your music is fine. Not as mediocre as I first thought."

Choking on the slight praise, Demyx blushed, small smile tugging at his mouth's corners. "Th…thank you." Fondly, he brushed his fingertips against the sitar, lowered gaze soft and gentle.

"Play some more." In shock, the musician jerked his chin up, lips parted slightly as he rapidly ran his incredulous stare over the man's countenance. His expression was serious, surprisingly enough, eyes even seeming less than certain and lacking confidence as they challenged Demyx's stare for a long moment and then flicked away, the stranger's lip curling in unease. Raising a gloved, fisted hand, he rested it near his mouth and coughed politely, head inclined to the side, stare removed. "Please," he finished, though he didn't look to Demyx this time.

Biting his lip to keep down his excitement, for the longest time the sitarist could only nod, skin beneath his teeth paling from the pressure. He in time gathered his senses, though, giving his head a gentle shake before he moved the instrument before him, fingers plucking at several strings.

A thought flittered through his mind before his hands had fully crafted a song, though, and Demyx glanced up momentarily, innocent expression on his countenance. "Can I have a name first?" he asked, voice hushed, smile embarrassed.

The male, stiff and ill at ease, abruptly shot his attention Demyx's way, and the dirty-blond cringed in both surprise and remorse, he wondering if he should've asked such an intrusive question. The stranger had made it clear that his respect for the sitarist was almost nonexistent, saved only by his liking of the music the dirty-blond-haired youth played, and so Demyx wondered if he'd only served to agitate him further and spur him on to just walk out completely.

Ducking his head down, he parted his lips, apology already forming in the back of his throat when he was interrupted. "Zexion."

Glancing up once more with a shy gaze, he tilted his head in question, reacting as if he hadn't heard – when, clearly, he had. "P…pardon?"

A sigh was expelled from the named stranger's perfect lips; though, as his attentions were keyed in on them intently, Demyx caught the slightest wisps of a smile. Face burning as he raised his stare to meet the one visible eye, he allowed a sheepish smile of his own to break forth through his timidity, and he didn't look away as the male across from him held his gaze.

"_Zex_ion," he annunciated with the smallest hint of amusement, hands moving to fold neatly on the glass table as he leaned forward, dark hair veiling half of his beautiful face as pleasure danced on and off of his lips, the normal dullness of his eyes now replaced with a light slightly brighter.

Embarrassed beyond words now, Demyx leaned back and bowed his head, gathering the instrument protectively in front of him as he floundered for some kind of reaction. "Nice name," he finally murmured softly, cringing when he realized that this Zexion undoubtedly heard him, and then, blowing wet bangs plastered into his vision out of his eyes, he finally commenced with the song, a smile warming his lips gradually as the music flowed stronger from his instrument. "I'm Demyx," his softened voice replied, but he didn't glance up to see if Zexion had heard him.

Instead, he continued to play, committing the new melody and the male's name to his heart.

-- - --

Attachment he could honestly live without. It only served to complicate, to annoy, to mess with perfectly laid plans. Such was his dilemma now, as he stared at the immaculately cleaned-out hotel room, at the suitcases perfectly stacked by the door, at the bed made and abandoned without a second thought. He was getting attached. And not to the room he was currently lingering, arms crossed, stare pensive, head tilted and idly focused towards the door; nor was it to Hollow Bastion, for he'd quickly tired of the cloud-encumbered, tourist-attracting fortress of a town. Those he could leave behind without a second thought.

Narrowing his eyes in sudden frustration, he lifted his hand and carefully pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. It was that languid, gracefully beautiful musician who was pestering his normally collected thoughts.

It was _Demyx _who was keeping him attached.

It had been a blatant mistake, for him to stop on the side of the road every day and get swept up in the luxurious, innocent sound of his music. It had been more of a mistake to settle across from the dirty-blond in the café when he'd stumbled in and collapsed into _his _chair, looking utterly lost and admittedly adorable as he clung to the instrument he so cherished. And it had been horridly wrong of him, an irrevocable error, to later engage in quiet, extended conversation after the song he'd made up on the spot had finished, rather than excusing himself and striding rapidly out of doors, never looking back at the dirty-blond. Because of his foolish, thoughtless actions, however, he closed his eyes and saw a charming smile, and he fell asleep not with a book in his grasp but with the memory of a song in his mind.

He could hardly forgive himself for letting it come to this. He thought nothing of those around him. He cared not for commonplace pleasantries or the warm feelings instigated from close contact. He liked instead distance, minute contact, and _that _was why, he argued, that he would never fit into the bustling atmosphere of Hollow Bastion. _That _was why he was leaving behind the hotel room he'd stayed in for a short time, his one week up, the road to the nowheres of opportunity unfurling with every step he placed closer to the door. He hardly wanted a change from his solitary life, and so he cast one last idled gaze about the room he'd cleared, slow pace bringing him beside the bags he kept on his person always, right hand moving to rest on the top of one suitcase, right foot brushing accidentally against the cardboard box holding his books.

This was farewell to his hotel room, he assured himself. There was no going back to it.

But it took a lot of convincing to remind him that he couldn't care less.

It would take him several trips to gather all of his possessions neatly into one pile on the first floor, and as his hand grasped the polished doorknob he sighed, jaw tensing and then relaxing as he kept his irritation well hidden. Truthfully, he should've been overjoyed to remove his belongings from their present position and get that much closer to his car and thus the road, as normally he did every vacation's end. But his pains now seemed superfluous, unneeded, and he couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to stay just a week longer, so as to get to know the musician just a little better.

Dropping the suitcase forcefully outside of the room, he pocketed his key and clenched his fists, furious stare boring into the faded black of his bag. What did he _care_? Honestly, it was just another face in another crowd in another town. He would easily forget Demyx as time wore on. So why was he resisting against such a fact?

Fingers tightening around the handle of his suitcase, he started towards the elevators, books to be taken down his second trip. And as the contraption he stepped into hummed and the doors closed in front of him, so that he was staring at the contorted image of himself in the sliding entrance the whole time the moving box rumbled past each descending floor, he narrowed his gaze bitterly, jaw tensing for a second time, teeth gritting in impatience.

Leaving didn't affect him, no. He'd be _glad _to see the faded wallpaper and dirt-stained rug gone, the familiar interior of his vehicle cushioning his body as he drove the distance away from Hollow Bastion. But when the elevator stuttered to a stop and the doors slid apart so that he was looking into the vacant lobby, he hesitated, grip tightening on the suitcase's handle. Another second passed, his gaze scraped broadly around the surroundings strewn before him, and then he was stepping out as the doors began to close, flicking bangs from his gaze as he dragged the baggage towards the counter.

His next trip was more quickly executed, he not so willing to be delayed by his thoughts a second time around. And as he dropped the cardboard box he'd retrieved by the bag he'd left near the counter, he looked away from the inquiring gazes of the few people gathered around lounger chairs and couches, bowing his head as he fished out his room key to be turned into the concierge.

The desk empty of said person at the moment, Zexion merely rested his hands against the countertop, head falling back as the key rested coolly beneath his right glove. Staring past the curtain of dark bangs to gaze at nothing on the ceiling above him, he allowed his thoughts to escape him, tongue running along his dry lips automatically as he simply remained in a calm state.

Resounding footsteps had him lowering his eyes, however, and then a man, sporting both a mane of brown hair and a jagged scar across his nose, flicked cold eyes down towards him and tapped his fingertips against the mahogany surface beneath their hands, then tilting his head to the side as he sighed in exasperation.

"How may I help you today?" his voice, devoid of all warmth and personality, droned, his eyes focused away from Zexion as he stood right in front of his figure and perfectly arched his brows.

Appraising the man for a moment in mild surprise, he then bowed his head and shrugged away all emotion, fingers of his right hand curling and claiming the key lying flat. Thoughtfully, he tapped its teeth against the countertop, five slow, solid beats slicing through the silence, and then he tucked the brass-colored object into the palm of his hand, bringing his fist to his chin.

Irritated, the brown-haired concierge opposite to him turned his head Zexion's way just as he flicked his eyes upwards, and, with no change of emotion, he lowered his hand and extended his fist towards the bemused man, turning it over and uncurling his fingers.

Tilting his head, narrowing his eyes, he opened his mouth, and, with the utmost clarity so that he would not be mistaken, he merely claimed, "I'd like to check-in to a new room."

-- - --

He could hardly care less, that the dark-haired bookworm, who was somewhat vertically challenged and was definitely as antisocial as himself, didn't wedge himself behind the onlookers anymore and bury his nose in his books, opting instead to stand in a place more convenient for watching the performance. Demyx, however, was ecstatic, and to exaggerate such he always dragged the poor, ill-tempered man all the way to the front, in order that he might get a better view than the place which he always insisted on standing.

The actions of the sitarist, though the blond hardly paid them any mind, were then caught immediately by Axel, which was something he _did _care about, for it never meant anything good. And, unfortunately, it led to the redhead's new hobby of complaining to him about such special treatment granted to the new guy.

"_Ro-ox!_" he was whining now, as the blond batted his hand away from his face in exasperation and stood on his toes, craning his neck to see if Sora would make it again today. The boy had fast made watching Roxas sing into a habit, replying when the blond commented on such that he loved every moment of it. So he was expecting the boy's arrival quite anxiously now, because his cousin had become one of his pillars of strength when he had to perform in front of countless strangers. "Don't you _want _me up there with you? I mean, after all, I _am _your---"

"_Boyfriend_. Yeah, uh-huh." Squinting, the blond sighed in irritation and tilted his head, peeved that the most recent mess of brown hair he'd caught sight of did not belong to his cousin. "Honestly, Axel, I don't care if you're standing two feet in front of me or are all the way in the back of the crowd. Really, I _don't_. So all you're managing to do is piss me _off _with your _whining_!" That said, he shot the affronted redhead a narrow look, hands clenched in front of him as he growled warningly, teeth bared.

Axel did not take his words well. Green eyes, so mesmerizing and beautiful when Axel was both being uncharacteristically sweet or characteristically taunting, were now cold and dark, a flat evergreen as he narrowed his gaze on the blond. Lip curled into a silent snarl, he reacted badly to Roxas's lashing out, no doubt about to voice his own retort. "Well why don't I just---?!"

"Sora!" Roxas suddenly called, distracted from the redhead momentarily as he pushed his weight on his toes higher and waved his arm in a wide arc, wanting the boy, still so far down the road, to see him immediately. "Sora, over h---!"

"He can damn well _see _you, Blondie!" the redhead at his side snapped as he grabbed Roxas's arm in the air and squeezed it sharply, then jerking it down to both of their sides as he spun the blond to face him. "So why not listen to _me _for one friggin' second?"

Glancing up in annoyance, he tugged at his claimed limb, but the redhead's grip was steadfast. Oceanic stare narrowing as well, clashing against bitter evergreen, he tossed his head contemptuously and spat, "_What_? What do you want to say? That I'm ignoring you? Oh, _God_ forbid I don't _talk _to you for five minutes!"

"You know, you've been a real asshole ever since you started getting all sweet and cuddly with your long-lost cousin. Be a little more considerate to the guy who actually _gave _a crap for all the times Spiky _wasn't _there for you!"

"It's not like he actually _could've _been, jerk! He was all the way on Destiny Islands!"

"_Spare _me, Rox. Don't bore me with the same old sob story. Fact of the matter is, you want him around more than you want me, isn't that right? Because of course _Sora _has to make it to _every _show, but _me_? No, it doesn't matter one bit if I'm even _here_, does it?"

Sucking in his breath quite rapidly, Roxas allowed his irritation to fall away as Axel dropped his arm with force, turning his head away then to grumble softly under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest. Lowering his eyes, he clenched his fists awkwardly as all thoughts trained on his words before, on his cruelty to the man before him, on his complete apathy to Axel whatsoever.

"When I said that…" he began to murmur softly, head now completely bowed, bangs falling into his shadowed-over eyes, "…I meant that, as long as you were here, I didn't care where you were. _Not _that I-I---"

"Not good enough, Rox," Axel muttered reproachfully, and the blond cringed, keeping his eyes lowered as he fisted and relaxed his hands continuously, stare boring holes into the tops of his shoes. He'd assumed that it wouldn't have been, after all. What he'd meant to explain to Axel and what he'd actually said were two different things entirely. As it was, he couldn't put his feelings into words worth a damn, and so, for yet another time, he'd ended up hurting the person he cared most for.

"'m sorry," was all he could find to say as the silence pressed on, and then he turned away from the redhead, walking to where Demyx was presently in deep conversation with a thoughtful-looking what's-his-face, eyes not even searching out Sora any longer. He didn't want to further agitate the redhead, whose stare he could feel burning into the back of his neck.

His footsteps carried him grudgingly closer to where Demyx was animatedly chatting with the relaxed stranger, and the blond cast his worried stare onto the ground, shoulders shaking as he wondered about how long Axel would be put off by him. And now, more than ever, he wanted to not have to go up and stand center stage, he obligated to sing before the crowd when suddenly all that he longed for was his home and his bed and the ceiling, which he could stare at endlessly for hours and never got one wrong reaction from.

So when the familiar gloved hand clasped gently around his wrist, stopping him instantly in his tracks, he was both relieved that he didn't have to walk farther and absolutely terrified, because he didn't know what to say.

"Roxy," came the soft voice at his ear, and in one shaking breath he sighed, shoulders slumping as he lifted a hand to his face and shook his head, teeth piercing the skin of his lip sharply. Arm moving to rest against his stomach, Axel guided the blond to lean against his chest, and, shuddering softly, Roxas let his head fall neatly beneath the older male's chin.

"'m really sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes, hands moving to clutch the redhead's arm as he lifted his head and nuzzled gently against Axel's chin, eyes squeezing shut as he did so.

"You two lovebirds going to kiss and make up yet? _Hmm_?"

A soft gasp catching in his throat, Roxas let his eyes flutter open and he lowered his head, mouth agape as he stared in horror to see Sora standing across from them, hands clasped at the base of his hair easily as he tilted his head and grinned. Stuttering incomprehensibly, the blond tightened his grip on Axel's arm, fingers clutching the worn fabric of his jacket as he shifted backwards, pressing uncertainly closer to the redhead's frame.

Suddenly, Roxas felt Axel's warm breath against his cheek, and, wincing slightly, he flicked his eyes to his left, lips quivering nervously. "Whadda you say, Rox? Do you really want to stay mad anymore?"

Coloring in embarrassment, the blond finally forcefully pulled himself out of the redhead's eased grip, one hand raking through his hair as he avoided both pairs of eyes pensively focused on his form. As long as he had to, he wanted to go back to Demyx with the sudden fight resolved and his spirits lighter than they were at the pressing moment, but he was hesitant to reconcile anything with Sora's eyes watching and with his own embarrassment holding him back.

Finally, shrugging his shoulder indifferently, he tilted his head as he stared still at the ground, one hand moving to rest desperately in his pocket. "S-sure," he mumbled with a nod, head tilting farther to the right, "I _guess_…"

There was a soft chuckle to his left, and then a familiar arm wrapped around his shoulder, Axel leaning some of his weight into the blond's side. Inhaling sharply when the redhead leaned down, breath tickling his cheek as Axel's smirking countenance loomed in his peripheral vision, Roxas looked further away, eyes catching Sora's amused stare momentarily before he removed his gaze once more.

"Rox," the redhead's warm, teasing voice whispered into his ear, making the blond shiver when his lips pressed gently against the skin soon after. "C'mon, look at me. I'm not mad…"

Head ducking down, he narrowed his eyes, frustrated with himself for being so speechless, and then, with a heavy sigh, he finally turned his attention to Axel. Due to hesitance he only stared at the darkly clothed torso of his best friend's chest, but as the redhead continued to trail his lips along the blond's jaw Roxas finally lifted his chin, warily meeting emerald eyes when Axel pulled back.

"So…you forgive me?" he murmured hesitantly at last, eyes flicking away as he was once more reminded of how his cousin was standing off to the side – which only served to make him accurately aware of their compromising position.

His reply was a scoffed laugh, and Roxas jumped when Axel lowered both hands to his hips, so that the blond whipped his head back and stared at the redhead in alarm. Grinning devilishly, the older male replied, "'Course I do, Roxy," and ducked his head down, swiftly capturing his lips before the blond could react in any way, mouth softly caressing his as Roxas stood stock still.

Finally it clicked in his mind, so that he inhaled sharply and lifted his hands to Axel's shoulders, pushing away with a gasp. Shaking his head, stumbling as he blinked rapidly and ran his tongue over his lips, he felt his cheeks sear under Axel's no doubt amused gaze and promptly dropped his arms, turning around to see his cousin staring up at the sky with a smile on his face.

"S-Sora, I-I…" Lifting his fist, he wiped at his mouth as the brown-haired boy lowered his head and smiled at him lightly, one brow arched as he said nothing. "Y-you know _Axel_?" he squeaked softly, eyes narrowing as said redhead snickered in enjoyment at the blond's fumbling.

Tilting his head, his cousin chuckled softly. "I think we've met once or twice."

"A-ah…" Roxas trailed off, violently scrubbing at his mouth as he shook his head and flicked his gaze towards Demyx, who was lounging comfortably in his seat, laughing in a delighted sort of fashion as his short and sour companion leaned curiously over his instrument, scrutinizing it as he held his hand to his chin. "Well, I guess---"

"Blondie's my _boyfriend_, Spiky," Axel drawled easily, slipping his arm around Roxas's waist just as he began walking, so that he cried out in alarm and tripped back into the redhead's embrace. "Y'know, if you couldn't figure it out. He was too sheepish to tell ya himself, though, the cutie."

"I'll _kill _you," Roxas hissed through clenched teeth, struggling in the unmercifully tight hold that pinned him against the Axel's body. However, before he could effectively glare at his captor, cheerful laughter erupted from Sora, and in surprise the blond glanced ahead, wide stare dubious but smile slight and hopeful on his lips.

"No, I got that much," his cousin commented lightly, arms crossed over his chest as he shared a knowing glance with Roxas. "I figured that if he allowed you to get _that _close to him without tearing you limb from limb, you oughta be close." Closing his eyes, he grinned whole-heartedly. "'sides. That fight you had didn't last long at all, did it? Roxas really cares about you, I'll bet."

"_Real_ly…?" whispered the redhead's soft voice in his ear, but Roxas didn't deign that a response, instead squirming in his friend's hold as his cheeks darkened with red and finally slipping free. Jogging over to Sora, he cleared his throat and slung his arm over his cousin's shoulders, steering him around and towards Demyx, claiming that he'd probably blown off the dirty-blond long enough and he might as well sing.

As his cousin laughed once more, however, shaking his head as he eased himself out of Roxas's insistent hold, the blond snuck a glance over his shoulder, catching Axel's eyes hesitantly. The redhead, arms crossed, head tilted to the side as he watched the two, allowed a grin to slip onto his face at the blond's curious stare, he winking soon after as he stood off to the side obediently.

And Roxas grinned back, because he really couldn't have asked for a better person than Axel to always be by his side watching.

-- - --

Oftentimes, he wondered if this was borderline infatuation, or if perhaps that line had been crossed almost as quickly as it had been drawn. He hardly knew the person at his side, so careful in his deliberations and elegant in his speech, but the emotions fluttering in his stomach upon a single calculating glance or crawling along his skin at the simple brush of a hand were undeniable, that Demyx knew.

He was not in love. Though foolish and naïve, as he would be scolded for being by numerous people he acquainted himself with, he knew that the tentative blushes he hid and awkward smiles he attempted to force down were not yet a product of a fully developed adoration. True, he'd never fallen hard before, or fallen at all, really, but all instinct within him murmured that it was too soon to completely feel a full heart's affections, and so he kept standing on that perilous fence, wondering which side he learned towards: infatuation or just growing admiration.

Slipping his hand into Zexion's now, he covered his embarrassment by giving the startled man's arm a quick pull, persuading him to stumble on down the street as he laughed cheerfully and blushed when the dark eyes on his face finally flicked away. Times such as these made him almost certain of the depths of his feelings towards the dark-haired traveler, his fingers acting on their own accord to lightly squeeze the gloved hand within his grasp in a comforting way, but still he was uncertain, naïve as his friends always claimed, unwilling to tamper a good thing by rushing too quickly into uncharted waters. So he laughed and doted and remained ever cheerful, affecting to seem like his overly-affectionate efforts towards friendship were just that, as if he felt the pressing desire to just be close enough to feel the rustle of clothing against his skin and catch the faint scent of shampoo with everyone he met.

The fact of the matter was – and he kept it a secret – that it was only Zexion who'd ever made him behave so foolishly before.

"Do you in fact know where you're going," drawled his alluringly soft voice presently, "or are you just going to drag me up and down these godforsaken stalls all day?"

Pouting, letting loose his hold on his companion's hand to pull at his sleeve, Demyx then crossed his arms and caught the dark-haired male's quick gaze before it glanced away in sudden interest. "What, you don't like spending time with me?"

Rolling his eyes to the heavens, the bangs veiling his right eye fluttered in an amusing fashion before they settled again in his vision. Tilting his head then in a tell-tale sign of annoyance, Zexion flicked his eyes the sitarist's way, dry expression claiming his countenance. "_Must _you complain? I'm wasting my time spent reading to walk these crowd-infested streets." The look of utter disgust present on his face now made Demyx almost giggle; he talked of Hollow Bastion as if he was wading through trash heaps. "So don't whine about such idiocy."

Demyx's first reaction to the words spoken was, surprisingly, to smile. Having spent much time with Zexion in the past few days, he'd picked up on the differing tones the male used when addressing him, all scathingly worded and sarcastically said but used to imply different emotions. Now, his tone was light, exhausted, indicating that he was tiring of being jostled to the side by countless pedestrians and thus he was impatient. Anymore biting, and the dirty-blond would've seriously worried if Zexion was, in fact, mad at him, but that wasn't the case, and so he willingly grasped the dark-haired man's hand once more and happily pulled him to the side, guiding him to the place he'd secretly been searching out all along.

Zexion would never have to know that he'd just used the crowds as an excuse to walk close to him for the passing hours.

Left hand falling on the door as Demyx pulled the shorter figure closer with a smile, he jerked his head to the side and pushed at the entrance, the wood giving way into a room darker and cooler in atmosphere. Shivering only once in apprehension, the sitarist looked back with an encouraging smile, gaze softening when he caught the dark-haired male try to surreptitiously glance inward around Demyx's frame; squeezing his hand, smiling happily when Zexion's suspicious eyes flicked up into his, he then dragged the male in his wake, the door swinging behind them as the two descended the stairs into a wider, tenser room.

"I've never been here," the dirty-blond-haired youth sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment with his free hand as he settled himself down at the first open table he saw, Zexion coolly and calmly following his example and sitting directly across from him. "So I don't know how much fun it'll be. But I heard all kinds of aspiring artists – writers, musicians, dancers – come to perform while the audience just eats and relaxes, s-so---"

Zexion smirked silently as he tilted his head, leaning forward to rest his chin in his open palm, and Demyx blushed, leaning back wide-eyed as that dark, amused stare captivated his. "You don't like it here?" he murmured smoothly, lifting his head momentarily to cast a sweeping glance around the oppressive room, smoke suspended and choking in the air, shady characters confined to corners as their voices dissolved into murmurs as they drank from their bottles.

"I-It's not my typical hang-out, no," he replied nervously, eyes darting around and then flashing back to his companion's. Zexion himself was taking everything in stride, a calm expression on his countenance as he leaned his cheek into his hand and almost smiled, visible eye trailing the details of the room a moment longer before focusing back on him. "B-but _you _like it here, right?"

Brows arching neatly, he slid his hand to rest below his chin, but he was carefully contemplating his words, it seemed, because his nod was slow and pacifying. "It's peaceful. Quiet."

Beaming now, quite proud that he'd found a place to suit Zexion's tastes rather than the rambunctious outer streets of Hollow Bastion or near the promontory where he always performed, Demyx squared his shoulders against the stares they seemed to be collecting and smiled as bravely as he could manage. "Th-that's good."

Ducking his head down sheepishly then, he bit his lip and circled his finger on the stained surface of the table, a few bangs tumbling into his vision as he tried for all the world to appear interested in the chipping wood peeling even more so because of his idled ministrations. When he could take it no more, though, he shyly glanced up, cringing when immediately his gaze locked with Zexion's. Even more mortifying in his mind, the dark-haired man nodded to himself and then placed both hands flat on the table, pushing himself to his feet.

"Come along, Demyx," was all he offered as explanation, and, knitting his brows in confusion, the musician immediately stumbled to his feet, chair legs screeching horribly against the floor as he fumbled with it an a desperate attempt to be polite and then left it pushed against the table, hurrying after his companion already half-way up the staircase.

Upon reaching the outside, he at once caught sight of Zexion leaning against the brick face of the building's front entrance, arms crossed placidly over his chest, dark bangs falling neatly over his eye as he tilted his chin and stared at the sitarist, expression seeming hard and vacant but his gaze almost amused. Scratching at his head in the utmost confusion, Demyx sucked in a breath and made to ask Zexion what the deal was, but without any prompting the man only pushed off of the wall and lifted one hand, flicking his fingers forward in a gesture to follow as he then turned and began to walk away.

Obediently the dirty-blond jogged after him, head tilted, hands clasped behind his back when he finally was side by side with the shorter male. "Uh…" he began innocently, watching as Zexion continued to stare straight ahead, gaze unrelenting, "…why'd we _leave_?"

The dark-haired man's lips twitched somewhat as Demyx watched him, but otherwise his expression never changed. "I'm not normally one who has the tendency to frequent local bars," he drawled, head tilting as if he was contemplating the full extent of such a lifestyle.

Blushing immediately, Demyx shook his head and waved his hands. "N-no! It wasn't _that _kind of bar! It was a karaoke---"

"You're quite naïve," the dark-haired man commented lightly, faint smile visible at this point on his lips, and Demyx hung his head with a sigh, arms dropping limply to his sides. "And furthermore, I'm not as into the arts you previously explained as you seem to think."

Lifting his head, the sitarist stared at him, puzzled. "What? But you…all the time you read and…you like my _music _and…!"

"So that makes me a lover of the arts?" Zexion drawled in amusement, head turning as he arched his brows and allowed the corners of his lips to curve higher. "I was never under such impression."

"B-but---!" Demyx sputtered, quite at a loss at this point, and Zexion looked away, though the dirty-blond had caught the man grinning at his expense, and he pouted sourly.

"I'm a man of science," his companion finally replied, and the sitarist sighed, looking down at his feet as he curled his hands into fists and then uncurled them in a repeating fashion.

"You like it when I play," was all he grumbled, keeping his voice low enough so that he was rather convinced that the man beside him wouldn't hear.

"You're a special case indeed," was the answer he received, however, despite his attempts to go unheard, and in surprise Demyx glanced up, face warm and mouth momentarily dry. Choking in embarrassment, he then let his head fall again, hand nervously ruffling his hair as he tried desperately for a change in conversation, the man at his left walking as calmly on as ever.

The silence wore on between them, Zexion every so often muttering his disapproval when he was jostled to the side or pushed unceremoniously against Demyx's frame. The only conversation exchanged between them as they struggled to get out of the square was the dark-haired man's mumbled apologies, slander towards the crowd of pedestrians attached, which Demyx only shook his head and smiled at, holding up his hands in a placating manner until he looked off to the side to blush, arms falling back to his sides. Of course, this wasn't how he'd wanted the day to pan out, and he would've preferred if he could've thought of some less crowded eatery to lounge in, but nothing truthfully came to mind and he was too embarrassed to speak to his companion anyway.

When the crowds cleared and the pair stepped onto a path only slightly peppered with people, Demyx heaved a great sigh of relief, smile pulling at his mouth's corners as he swung his arms freely and tilted his head back to stare at the sky. The clouds had gathered once more, pregnant with gathered rain, and the smile on his lips faded, a frown pulling on his lips when almost directly after he'd glanced towards the heavens a raindrop struck his nose.

"Rain," he mumbled sadly, glancing towards Zexion with a tilt of his head. He loved this kind of weather, he really did, but when it came to choosing between constant precipitations and spending some time with the dark-haired scholar, he'd wholeheartedly choose the latter first.

The other male said nothing, resorting to simply walking along and continuing in the same direction as Demyx hesitated, sparing the sky a wary look before glancing back at his comrade's retreating form. Opening his mouth to speak, he tilted his head, and then he winced when, to his surprise, another cold raindrop landed on his face. Looking up, he winced at the wetness that fell into his eye, lashes fluttering in discomfort as he shook his head, and then he sighed, jogging after the still-walking Zexion, a light drizzle now accompanying the pounding of his footsteps.

Gently catching the dark-haired man's arm as he fell beside him once more, he mumbled, "The weather will only get worse, y'know. Do you really want to keep walking?"

But Zexion merely tilted his head and walked on, shaking rain out of his eyes and hair as the atmosphere all around them thickened with the increasing downpour, and the musician sighed, dropping his head obediently and trudging after his friend. The drumming of feet on cobblestones and faint splash of puddles as several people ran towards shelter registered in his ears as still they walked in silence, but Demyx kept his eyes on the ground, rain pounding into the bare skin on the back of his neck and plastering hair into his eyes and clothing against his frame. He winced once when his boots waded through a particularly deep puddle, teeth chattering as he stumbled and kicked in the air to shake the water out of the soles of his shoes, but other than that he strolled calmly and quietly in Zexion's wake, without a clue as to where they were going.

The walk was long, the two traversing up and down the many streets of Hollow Bastion, through the cold, in the rain. So it rather surprised him when suddenly a quick tug on his arm on Zexion's part ended the trip by dragging his reluctant form inside a foreign place radiating with warmth. Blinking, lifting his head as he shook the rain-laden bangs from his vision, he glanced around a plain looking lobby, eyes falling lastly on his soaked friend as he leaned over and squeezed the water out of his cloak.

Before he could open his mouth, however, Zexion was walking again, quickly jabbing his finger against a button that indicated going up. Crossing his arms, the dark-haired male stepped back, eyes closed as he kept his chin lowered, and, with a sigh, Demyx walked towards the elevator doors, not wanting to appear rude by just leaving so suddenly and also not wanting to brave the outdoors again the way the lightning was now flashing.

Just as a sharp crack of thunder had him jumping, a bell sounded, the golden doors before them sliding open directly afterwards. Without hesitation Zexion stopped forward, turning around to rest his dark stare on Demyx, and, nervously, the dirty-blond hurried on before his chance was lost. Shifting hesitantly inside, the entrance to the moving contraption closing moments after he leaned his back against the far wall, the musician sighed, clicking his toes idly as the silence fell between them, nothing but the soft buzzing easing the tension he felt.

Sneaking a glance at his companion's profile, Demyx felt his face heat up, and he looked down again, twiddling his hands in embarrassment. He didn't know whether it was the weather or just the death of their previously long-lasting conversation that had prompted Zexion's silence, but now, as the elevator rose higher, the male stood brooding in the corner, arms crossed, look of determination in his eyes. And butterflies were bursting into flight within the musician's stomach, because he found himself unable to deny that the dark, foreboding manner of the dark-haired man was anything but hopelessly attractive.

Swallowing, Demyx sighed and cast his gaze onto the ceiling, he leaning more heavily against the wall at his back as he tried to count a rhythm in his head, making any attempt to soothe his nerves agitated by the reigning quiet. Finally the doors slid open, the rustle of Zexion's cloak signaling his movement into the hall, and Demyx was quick to follow, pushing hastily out of the elevator and padding over the carpet, at his friend's heels.

Dark head bowed as he rooted through his cloak for some desired object, the male's footsteps slowed, and Demyx, so close at this point, had to stop before he crashed into him, holding up his hands to catch his balance while simultaneously sucking in his breath. Face flaring, he hesitated in his steps and then shook his head as Zexion continued on, following the man at a careful distance now, cheeks stained a visible pink as he mumbled softly to himself continuous reprimands. He kept on doing so even as the dark-haired man stopped at his door and looked up, so that when he finally became aware of where he was and glanced over at the man, his face flared a deeper red when he caught the faint smile on his friend's lips.

"U-uh…" he stuttered in embarrassment, jumping back a little, stumbling over foot as he shook his head. "I-I…"

Leaning against his door, tilting his head, Zexion glanced away from Demyx momentarily, eyes casually sweeping down the hall before they flicked back to his sea green. Small smile on his lips, he lifted his chin, brows arched perfectly as he waited for the dirty-blond to continue. Blushing under his tension, completely wordless now that his friend's perfect stare was focused solely on him, he rubbed the back of his neck, lowered his head, and then glanced back up again, completely at a loss.

"S-so this is…" he fumbled, trying desperately to make conversation and failing spectacularly.

"My room, yes," came Zexion's voice at last, soft in tone, deep in sound as he continued to mesmerize Demyx with his brooding stare, as if he was waiting for something.

"Oh," the musician replied lightly, lips curving into a smile as he spared the door a pleasant glance. Then, grinning a little wider, he glanced back to his friend, that same calculating stare almost encouraging him. Tilting his head, smile lessening a little, he tried to interpret the silent message directed towards him. And then, as he completely relaxed against the barrier, it clicked. "O-_oh_!" he stammered, blushing, pulling back as he raked one hand through his hair nervously. "Oh, I-I…"

"_Oh_?" Zexion articulated, one perfect brow arched as he crossed his arms tighter across his chest, rain collected in his hair trailing in drops along his chin and down his nose in random intervals as the sitarist watched. Holding his breath, eyes glancing to a thin mouth and then away, he scratched at his cheek with a shaking hand, uneasy smile rising and falling on his lips.

"I didn't…I mean that's not…no, I-I-I…"

Sighing, slipping his hand down the door, the dark-haired male walked closer to him, Demyx flinching as he blushed and fiddled with the jacket clinging to his thin frame. As he was doing so, concentration completely on his present action, two warm, gloved hands closed around his wrists, and as he glanced up, startled, Zexion pulled the dirty-blond down to his height, lips crashing against his as all the musician could do was stare with startled eyes and remain positively stiff with shock. The man was insistent, however, harshly letting go of Demyx's wrists to tangle his fingers in his matted-down hair, and, gasping softly, he allowed his eyes to flutter to a close, nervousness relaxing completely from his shoulders.

Stumbling over-foot when Zexion pulled away, eyes glazed over and lips slightly parted as he panted for breath, the smallest smirk floated to the dark-haired man's countenance as he fitted the key into his door and pushed it open, glancing back with a pointed look. Blushing, looking down, Demyx hesitated, biting his lip, darting his eyes about as he avoided the man's stare. He hardly knew this person, though he held him already in his heart as his dear friend, so he didn't want to ruin this relationship they had between them. But, while he wasn't in love, the sudden emotions racing so frantically and insistently within him were undeniable, and he wanted what Zexion was artfully hinting at, of that he was certain.

So, swallowing painfully and then lifting his sheepish gaze from the carpet, he in embarrassment reached for the dark-haired man's hand, intertwining their fingers automatically. Upon establishing compliance through contact, they then together disappeared into the more calming darkness of Zexion's room, door closing behind them.

-- - --

Hands linked behind his head easily, expression composed and relaxed as he lingered a ways away from the group gathered about the stall, he sighed softly, tilting his head as he lifted his gaze to the heavens, and then he dropped his gaze just as quickly, shoulders falling. Not once, in the whole time that summer had fallen upon them, had the sun shown its face in that sky.

He was tiring of rainfall. He was tiring of thunder and lightning and storms that shook their apartment building on bad nights. He was tiring of Hollow Bastion in general.

But he couldn't tell Roxas; not yet. For one, he couldn't bear to do it, afraid that he'd break the fragile heart within the blond's chest that had just begun to heal. After all, here they all were, cluttering the cobblestone streets of the business square, Roxas tentatively interacting with Hayner, Pence, and Olette as he sent his dirty-blond-haired former friend awkward smiles and stiff jokes or nudged the pretty brunette ever at his side in the arm as he pointed out some ridiculous little trinket. He was softening towards them, ever since words had been exchanged and punches had been thrown in that alleyway as a form of reconciliation. Now, as Sora watched, eyes pained and smiled forced, he noticed that his cousin was far happier than he'd been upon his arrival nearly a year ago, his form comfortable and the air about him light and calm. He didn't want to see that fade away.

And for another thing, Sora didn't even know how to explain himself. Here he was, reunited with the cousin he loved like a brother, in the business capital of the world, on scholarship to one of the most prestigious colleges in the world, on his way to making a name for himself despite to his low social standing and yet due to his impressive accomplishment…and he wanted to return to seclusion. Roxas wouldn't understand, that he knew, and the blond would probably hate him for his decision. There was no reason why he shouldn't.

Easing apart his linked hands as he kept himself away from the fun they were all having as a kind of penance, the brown-haired youth lifted his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly as he lowered his eyes and heaved a sigh, his worries clenching tightly in his stomach. A part of him truthfully didn't want to leave the place he'd grown accustomed to calling home; he loved equally the experiences he'd had and the acquaintances he'd made, so it would be hard to let all of that go in the end.

"Sora!"

Looking up with a start, the boy let his arms fall and cocked his head to the side, curious expression easing away the trouble from his features as his eyes connected with his cousin's. Arms crossed, countenance stern as the blond leveled him with a disapproving stare, Roxas arched one brow questioningly, but Sora managed a real smile for the youth, laughing as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"You all right?" the boy pressed, despite his skillful theatrics, and Sora nodded enthusiastically. "You seem kinda…_off _today."

"It's fine, Rox," he persisted, beaming as he walked over to his cousin and clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "You worry too much. I've just been thinking, that's all. Go back and hang with your friends."

The stiffness in the blond's shoulders eased beneath his touch, and then Roxas batted his hand away, lopsided grin in place as he shook his head and jerked his thumb towards the three turned away from them and gathered still around the stall. "They're going to hang here; I told them I was heading off, and they decided not to come."

Sora blinked. "Where're you going?"

Grin gentling on his lips as he shook his head almost childishly, his cousin grasped his wrist and pulled him along, the two heading slowly away from where Hayner, Pence, and Olette were browsing through souvenirs to no doubt bring back home to Twilight Town. "_We're _going to spend the day together, stupid. Y'know, be chummy and all that sentimental crap?"

Smile breaking out on his face, Sora laughed, clapping his hands together. "Oh, Rox! You _mean _it?" he joked, immediately getting a punch in the shoulder from the smirking blond trying desperately not to laugh. Chuckling still, the youth ruffled his locks of brown hair, sincerely glad that his cousin, so quiet and withdrawn by nature, was becoming less and less temperamental as time wore on. He'd feared more than once that he'd lose his cousin, and consequently his only kin, to the demons within him, but Roxas was a fighter, it seemed, and he was faring well against his troubles at last.

Walking beside each other in amiable silence, Roxas with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Sora with his hands linked behind his head, the two cousins surveyed the marketplace teeming with life, he far more curious at the sights than the blond seemed to be. Admittedly, he probably shouldn't even be so awed at the multiple business transactions and rapid bartering occurring, but life had always been so calm and easy-going on Destiny Islands, so the liveliness of the town never ceased to astonish him as he moved through it.

A hand grasping his arm as he continued to walk on in a kind of daze, Sora blinked and looked over to see Roxas rolling his eyes at him, jerking towards another direction thereafter with his head and then dropping his previously claimed limb, walking the way he'd indicated. Laughing at his own expense, the darker-haired cousin jogged after the one leading, smile dancing on his lips and eyes alight as he lifted his head to all of the action surrounding them, delighting in being able to make memories with Roxas for once in such a place.

It wasn't often that the blond was even found caught in the midst of all of this, after all. He wasn't one to openly embrace rowdiness and raucous noise.

"Hate this place," Roxas was muttering now, as if answering Sora's musings, and the brown-haired boy had to cover his laugh, looking away as he stayed on his cousin's heels. "I can't believe you're _enjoying _yourself, Sora."

Grinning, the addressed boy shrugged. "It's an experience."

"'s a royal pain in the _ass_, is what it is…" was his grumbled reply, and this time Sora did laugh, cheerful voice ringing out loudly.

"Anyway, this is what I wanted to show you," Roxas continued, though the slight smile on his face confirmed that his mood had lightened. Waving with his right hand as he stopped in front of a stall hidden against one of the alleyway walls beneath an awning, the blond leaned down, Sora coming up curiously beside him and tilting his head. Shrugging, he followed his cousin's example, eyes falling to the contents on the table, and immediately he stiffened, hand stilled midair above the crafts.

"Remind you of the sea?" Roxas asked eagerly, smile not wide on his lips but bright in his eyes as he glanced up. The blond had been to Destiny Islands once in his entire life, and he'd always had a fond place in his heart for the small paradise, so no wonder he was excited at his discovery; and proud, of course, because it so represented Sora's home.

But that was the very thing that was killing him now, the memories rushing back as he forced a smile. Eyes burning, he gingerly lighted the tips of his fingers on a necklace made completely of thalassa shells, found only on the Islands of his home and Kairi's favorite of all shells to collect. Swallowing, smile faltering on his lips as he picked it up, he ran his thumb over the smooth surface and tilted his head, heart rushing back to the best friends he'd left behind, mind wondering what they were doing.

"Kairi," he whispered, vision blurring as he turned the carefully crafted necklace in his grip, fingers shaking evidently as he examined the object. He missed her. And he missed Riku. Gods above did he want to see them now, to hold both close, to laugh over old jokes as they made new memories together. In deciding to find his cousin, he'd sacrificed the two people he most held dear, and, if he had any regrets at all, that was the only one. Not a day passed when he didn't think of them, didn't miss them, but this was definitely one of the more painful revelations now, with him holding the thalassa shells in his hand and not seeing that ocean he loved in the distance, reassuring him that he was home.

"You want that necklace, Sora?" came a soft voice, and, startled, Sora glanced up, tear coursing down his cheek before he could prevent it, making Roxas blink in surprise and tilt his head the brown-haired boy's way. Shaking his head, laughing softly as he lifted his fingers to his face and carelessly wiped the offending teardrop away, he placed the thalassa shells back down, backing away.

"I can't afford it, Rox," he said lightly with a grin too big for his liking, shrugging easily at his cousin's insistent stare. "You know my job pays me nothing!" And he laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his head, letting his gaze trail desperately as he fought to escape his cousin's scrutiny. "Hey, Rox. Let's go over there!" he then said, and he started walking to the place he'd abruptly picked out and pointed to, wanting more than anything to just clear his head and calm his emotions.

Sighing heavily, spinning around, Sora leaned against the wall and slid down to the cobblestones, knees bent and arms thrown limply over them as he bowed his head and tried to breathe normally again, the tremble in his body quite unnerving. No matter what he did, though, be it shaking his head and closing his eyes tightly to force the images from his mind, or count backwards from ten to try to distract his thoughts with the practice, he failed to successfully dislodge Riku and Kairi for one moment from his heart. It was no good; the threads that kept them together were too intertwined now, and, no matter how hard it hurt to keep them so close, he couldn't tear himself free.

A shadow fell across the ground beside him, though he found it miraculous to see such without a sun in the sky, and, glancing up, Sora caught himself looking into a troubled oceanic gaze, the blond's eyes storming as he held out an object in his hand, which Sora found to be the necklace upon further inspection. Sighing, forcing a smile as he reached up and took the prize from his cousin's grasp, Sora leaned back against the wall as Roxas moved to sit beside him, tilting his head as he ran his thumb once more over the familiar, sea-worn surface.

He wondered if he'd hear the ocean if he put it next to his ear.

"Who's…Kairi?" Roxas asked hesitantly as the silence reigned between them, and, glancing up, eyes staring out at the people traipsing back and forth to different places right in front of them, Sora gave a reminiscent smile.

"One of my best friends back home," he said softly, voice fond yet still pained.

"Sounds more than that," the blond encouraged in a murmur, keeping his voice low for Sora's sake, so that perhaps the conversation would flow more easily. Sora smiled, knowing that not to be true, but it was the thought behind it that counted.

Lowering his eyes back to the thalassa shells, the brown-haired boy nodded hesitantly. "She doesn't know, of course; I've never told her."

"You went away never telling her…" Scoffing softly an ironic laugh, Roxas shook his head beside him; the gesture, though harsh at his expense, was somewhat soothing, he found. "You really can be such an airhead, Sora. She's probably…"

Wincing, the boy shrugged, not needing to hear the rest of his cousin's dropped off sentence to understand what he'd meant to say. "Yeah," was what he whispered. "I know."

Sighing, Roxas shifted beside him and then slung an arm around his shoulder, startling Sora greatly and prompting him to look over. Head bowed, eyes averted, his cousin pursed his lips, picking at the fabric of his pants deliberately with his free hand as he remained silent for a time, not explaining himself, not able to look up. Finally, he parted his lips, wincing before he said anything, and then murmured, "I'm…always here, y'know. For anything that's bothering you, Sora. I _know _that I haven't been the best person to have _around_…but…"

Leaning heavily against the blond, allowing him to trail off as he struggled for words, the brown-haired youth nodded, finding immense comfort in his kin's half embrace. Of course, it must've seemed odd, to see two boys who resembled each other collapsed against the wall in a business district, one looking severely discomforted, the other looking too tired for his youth, but, at the present, Sora didn't care. His heart ached, his head hurt, and his eyes itched with tears he wouldn't let fall, and still Roxas was there, was being his pillar of strength willingly for the first time since the brown-haired boy had walked back into his life, and, momentarily, that was enough to wash clean his deep-cutting wounds.

"Thanks, Rox," he murmured in relief, closing his eyes as he slumped further against the blond's frame, eyes fluttering to a close.

And as his cousin tightened his hold around him, perhaps needing the new comfort just as much as Sora presently did, the darker-haired boy lost himself to his surroundings, drifting off into a dreamless kind of sleep.

-- - --

It had been an experiment; simply that, no strings attached. He'd wanted to know if sleeping with the exotic musician would be enough, if, by doing so, he'd successfully force those sea green eyes and that infectious smile from his thoughts. He'd hoped to rid himself of this strange kind of desire for the dirty-blond-haired youth who was so persistently cheerful, argued that one small fling and numerous passionate kisses would be enough to satiate him so that he could move on, unaffected, without regrets.

In the end, the experiment failed. The hypothesis had been shaky at best; there had been no trial and error; he'd simply moved ahead without thinking first of the consequences. He'd given in to temptation without weighing the cons – for the pros were immeasurable – and now he was paying the price.

Standing where he was now, hand locked in the grip of the sitarist at his side smiling so hopefully and looking so obnoxiously happy, he found that he couldn't meet those sea-glass gems that sparkled with such vibrancy as Demyx looked about, enthusiastically chattering away. He felt disgusting, _guilty_, his insides raw and aching as he pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze in contempt, not used to such persisting feelings, unaccustomed to any remorse. Because he always thought before he acted, he walked away without any regrets; now, he'd made the biggest mistake he ever could have imagined, for he was leaving tomorrow, nothing in his path to hold him to that shabby hotel his eyes were tiring of seeing, and Demyx had attached himself to his side with the utmost trust in his heart.

Even worse, he'd grown comfortable around – _fond _of – the unbelievable idiot, too. Two weeks; that was all that it had taken for him ease into the comfort of the sitarist's life. And he was unnerved by such a revelation.

"Hey, Zexy?" Flicking dark eyes to sea green, he narrowed his gaze dangerously, no doubt appearing furious outwardly. Truthfully, he rather liked that the ridiculous twist of his name rolled so musically off of Demyx's tongue, it sounding pleasant to his ears when normally, should anyone else say it, the nickname would make him cringe; and that he was so fond of it, that he so longed to hear the musician say it repeatedly, terrified him. "U-um…" he fumbled under the unrelenting stare, biting his lip as he tried to conceal his grin, and then finally he glanced away, profile and elegant curve of his neck still visible to Zexion's eyes. "What…what're you doing? You just keep…_glaring_ at one spot."

Grunting, rolling his eyes as he closed his eyes and twitched his hand latched in Demyx's grip, he shrugged his shoulders. "Thinking. Most likely a foreign concept to you." If not under scrutiny, he would've cringed. His words meant nothing, but he doubted it seemed that way.

"Aww, don't be mad," Demyx laughed, a thing that startled Zexion into glancing over at him. He both regretted the action and reveled in it once made, because when his dark eyes flicked onto his companion's shining countenance, he quickly became lost in the swirling stare that immediately connected with his. Gentle smile curving those elegant, musical lips upwards, the dirty-blond-haired youth stepped in front of him with exaggeration, letting loose his hand to link both arms around the dark-haired scholar's neck. Jumping at the touch, which sent electric shocks through his body so that goose-bumps coursed his skin, he attempted to narrow his stare imposingly, conveying that he didn't want to be affectionate in public – or at all, because just such simple touches were absolutely killing him – but Demyx merely trilled another laugh in amusement. "What's bugging you, Zexy? _Really_?" And he leaned down gently, capturing his lips in such a painfully sweet manner that he found he couldn't control himself; reaching up, tangling his fingers once more into those dirty-blond locks, he deepened the kiss as his partner willingly submitted, arms moving to cling to his waist.

Growling as he parted from Demyx's mouth and trailed his lips along his chin and down that neck, he listened to the musician giggle or gasp, those skilled fingers that created such music on his instrument clenching and unclenching the folds of his jacket as he reacted. Memories of passion flooded back, of that night that was such a mistake and yet was the best thing Zexion truly had ever done for himself, and in desperation he returned to Demyx's mouth again, bruising the artistic lips that had sung him his own song on the promontory and had called his name in the dark and had murmured that they would forever be friends as they walked the streets of Hollow Bastion with their hands connected.

But it was _only _Demyx who believed in forever. This was his good-bye.

Parting, gasping for breath as his frame shook terribly with both desire and regret, he kept his hands holding the musician's face and urged it down to his level, leaning his forehead against the sitarist's as the other male mumbled happily and stroked his hair, every so often nipping at his lips to make Zexion suck in a breath in surprise. Always he kept his eyes down, not meeting Demyx's ecstatic stare when sometimes he'd be brave enough to capture the dark-haired man's mouth for small instances of butterfly kisses, not allowing himself to see the adoring grin the man wore unknowingly, the growing signs that his heart was filling with love. And he wondered grudgingly how he would end this so finally. He'd never had trouble finding words harsh enough to cut the truth into even the most stubborn person; but he'd never had to use the words to deny him the one thing he wanted more than anything he'd ever desired before.

Demyx. He _needed _Demyx. And now, after claiming him, after capturing that intractable innocence and hoarding that boundless beauty for himself, he had to deny himself the pleasurable company so finally.

For the first time, he could honestly say that he was the closest to happiness that he'd ever been, and in the company of a person, no less; and now he was running away.

"Demyx," he whispered hoarsely now, lifting his chin and his eyes at last to focus on the beautiful face; this was the last time he'd ever observe the musician, and the reality was a searing dagger in his heart, so that his hands slipped from those cheeks, clutching at the fabric over the youth's shoulders to hide their shaking. Cocking his head to the side, the addressed musician merely smiled calmly, waiting for him to continue as he threaded his fingers through his dark hair. "I'm leaving."

Immediately that hand stilled, and Zexion almost groaned in regret, the action so undeniably soothing to him. "_What_? But _Zexy_! We've only been out here for an _hour_!" he complained, and the dark-haired youth gritted his teeth painfully, realizing that he'd been horribly misunderstood. "Please, just a _little _longer! I _know _you hate the crowds but---!"

"_Dem_!" he growled shortly, and obediently the musician fell silent. "_Demyx_…" he corrected with a heavy sigh, and the dirty-blond tilted his head, smile returning slightly. "I don't know _how _to put this gently so you'll understand me, but I'm leaving Hollow Bastion. Tomorrow. I won't _be _here any_more_." Shaking his head tiredly as he edged back and pressed his fingertips against his temple, he pursed his lips momentarily and then growled, "Understand?"

"Oh," came the small voice, and hesitantly Zexion flicked dark eyes into his companion's wounded face, smile vanished, gaze downcast. The youth looked absolutely crushed, he pulling away as he fiddled with his hands speechlessly and chewed on his lower lip. Looking off to the side, the dark-haired man sighed in exasperation, the sound dwindling into a growl of displeasure, and he made to go, when suddenly that musical voice claimed brightly, "Oh! Well, of course you couldn't stay forever. I mean, it's not like you _live _here!" Laughing brightly, Demyx clapped his hands together once, and warily Zexion shot him a glance, suspicious of that genuine happiness on the young male's countenance. "And you can always come to visit! It's not like _I'm _going anywhere."

He stiffened at the musician's words, perhaps having known they were coming all along. Overly optimistic by nature, Demyx repeatedly failed to grasp his meaning, refusing to see anything but good in his actions, and thus Zexion was doomed to hurt him. The fact of the matter was, while he had choice to stay, choice to be happy, choice to make _Demyx _happy, he was far too unwilling to remain in Hollow Bastion, to give up being alone, to take a chance at something far more foreign than open roads and empty hotel rooms. He was selfish at heart, unknowing of how to do anything for anyone but himself, and he was a solitary figure who had room in his life for only books and facts and statistics.

He couldn't give up the only life he'd ever known on a mere whim and shift of desire in his heart. In the end, Demyx was only another face in the crowd, another person too unreliable for him to count on, and so he was scared, and so he would run. That's how it always happened, but the musician, caught in his dreams of fame despite a cruel, carnivorous world and lost in frivolous talk of life-lasting friendships and true love, would never understand such a cruel practice.

So he would not escape unscathed from Zexion's words, no matter how gently he'd try to speak the truth.

"Demyx," he stated softly now, words holding no warmth, tone calculating and calm as he lifted his chin confidently but kept his eyes averted in guilt. "I won't be coming back."

There was silence, heavy, unbearable, gut-wrenching in the space between them, clawing at his mind and insides as his jaw tensed, visible eye trained on the figures in the distance hurrying around the pair, unaffected by his words spared to the life-loving musician whose heart was no doubt breaking in the quiet. It was perhaps the cruelest thing, that Zexion knew how much he was hurting Demyx and didn't stop himself; he was aware of every injury he was causing with his carefully-chosen words, and he wouldn't stop, not until the musician was completely shattered, not until that truth finally registered in his mind irrevocably.

"…_why_?" came the pathetic whisper, the only words Demyx could think to spare him, the only reaction he had at all. It seemed he understood faster than Zexion had given the sitarist credit for. He knew that this was it, that with the flutter of a cloak and his retreating footsteps it would be the last time Zexion would linger in the business district of a town he'd never grown to even like in his two-week stay.

Sighing, finally meeting the musician's eyes, he cringed imperceptibly at the tears brimming in that sea green gaze, knowing full well that he was the cause of such hurt. "I never look back to places I've traveled to," he drawled simply, voice cold, eyes hard as bitter acid burned his tongue with every word. "I don't believe the past to be important."

The pained wince in Demyx's features made Zexion bite his tongue, so that he had to resort to all of his strength so as not to cringe from the taste of blood. "I'm…not important?" he whispered, lips trembling, eyes refusing to shed tears even as his stare wavered and he had to drop it to the ground, right hand pulling on the sleeve of his left arm, shoulders shaking evidently as Zexion watched so masochistically. It was killing himself to see the musician hurt so, and still he watched, though not knowing why.

Stepping back, boots scraping against the cobblestones and calling Demyx's gaze to attention, Zexion felt his stomach flinch at the look of panic in the youth's face, the way he so helplessly reached forward for the dark-haired man's arm and then stopped himself when the scholar pulled more hurriedly back. Hiccupping, biting his lip hard as he watched, Demyx looked on pleadingly, waiting still for Zexion's answer, and in that moment the dark-haired male realized that he loathed himself. To see such a beautifully hopeful person reduced to what he now was, because of _him_, _his _words, _his _decision…it made him sick with disgust.

Yet all he could do was walk away. And, turning from the dirty-blond, closing his eyes tight, he kept his shoulders straight and kept his stare focused ahead, composed for all passersby to see and looking absolutely assured as he stated firmly, "No."

He started walking then, having never meant to lie to Demyx, having wanted to always be honest with any person he found himself in the company of; yet now, he was leaving the musician, a person he admittedly cared for, with only a terse, monosyllabic falsehood that signaled his farewell. Demyx _was _important, was everything that made Zexion wish he could change his ways just for that lifelong bliss the beautiful boy promised, but nothing could alter the fact that now he was leaving, his words irreversible, his mind made up.

Hair veiling one eye, stare hardened to ice over all remorse evident, he kept his pace calculated and calm, abandoning the musician to his grief as the flutter of his cloak signaled his good-bye, lips mouthing the farewell he just couldn't bring himself to say.

-- - --

End of part two. Please review!


	3. Part III

I present to you the last part of the story. It's a quicker update, because I'm going on vacation, so...yeah. A treat for you guys! xD And again, thanks so much for sticking with this fic, what with its insane length and all. I have to get better about that. (sigh) And Rachael! I'm so glad that you enjoyed this, and I hope you'll like this final part!

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: Nuh-uh.

-- - --

"…the _hell_."

The door slamming at his back, eyes glowering past bangs plastered into his face, he violently shook one of his legs upon lifting it off of the dampening carpet, sending flicks of water against the walls and back at himself as he seethed silently. Having returned from the train station where he'd bid his good-byes to Hayner, Pence, and Olette – promising, albeit awkwardly, that he'd keep in touch – he'd been unfortunate enough to be caught in the open square, still a ways from home, exactly when the skies decided to open up and let loose a downpour. So he'd run the long distance to the apartment, freezing, soaked to the bone, and it had done nothing for his temper.

He was beginning to loathe the customary weather of Hollow Bastion. Being around the trio who'd brought back memories of his own home only served to make him long for Twilight Town more, even when those days were long gone and his personality didn't clash with such a peaceful setting anymore. Perhaps _because _he didn't belong he missed it so at the present, but, whatever the case, it didn't change the fact that he'd much rather have sunsets cresting rolling hills and warm nights out in the town set alight by the afterglow of the sky than rundown barracks and rain-soaked streets.

Sora knew how he was feeling. No doubt the kid, admittedly so new to the sights of the town, would much rather have the spray of salt water against his face instead of the smell of damp earth after a tumultuous thunderstorm, or the feel of sand beneath his feet instead of moss-overgrown cobblestones. And the thought lifted his darkened spirits slightly, to think that he finally had an ally, a _friend_, in all of this, and Roxas allowed himself a lopsided smile, he awkwardly running a hand through his soaked locks as he gazed about the apartment.

They were a team, two cousins facing the trials and tribulations of minimum wage, a highly competitive college, and the overall unsatisfactory atmosphere of a town neither wanted to be in – together. It had been a long time, the blond mused, since he'd had someone like that.

He had Axel, true, but the redhead was independent enough – and arrogant enough – to survive through any troubles thrown his way; besides that, he never failed to insist that he would _always _be fine, so long as Roxas was by his side – which always embarrassed the blond into silence. And yes, he had Naminé, too, his best friend who'd taken his silence and his temper without so much as a complaint, but, though she was his age and just as inexperienced, she was vastly more mature and thus able to do well on her own, and she had her paints to fall back on. So it was nice to know that, when he didn't desire to rely so heavily on them, he had his kin resurfaced in his life to lean on and be encouraged by, who could also find the same amount of support in him. It was a foreign feeling, to actually _trust _someone in his family, but Roxas rather liked it, he found; Sora was one in a million.

Slipping out of his sneakers, looking for his cousin now, he padded across the carpet, wincing at the cold sensation of his drenched clothing biting into his skin as he progressed. But Sora, he found, was not lounging on the couch before the television as he so normally did when no other opportunity presented itself to him, nor was he mulling about the kitchen, idling looking for things to snack on or even to cook. Thus, Roxas hesitated in the room's center, feet sticking to the linoleum tiles as he crossed his arms and tilted his head contemplatively. He knew the boy to not be outside, as he'd left only an hour and a half ago and his cousin had been nearly dead in his bed, soundly asleep. His only form of good-bye was a playfully tousling of the dark-haired boy's locks before he'd eased himself over the floor and across the threshold, closing the door in his wake.

Assuming it was his best place to check, Roxas wondered if the boy was still asleep – though the hour had passed noon already – and so he pulled at his hair absently while heading out of the kitchen, feet carrying him down the short hallway to the guest room coming up on his right, which was stationed directly across from his own bedroom. Hand falling easily on the golden knob, he hesitated, leaned his head against the wood, and wondered if he should knock, but then pulled back with a shake of his head and decided against it, pushing the barrier open quickly enough.

Hand at his neck, head bowed, he started, "Hey, Sora, looks like our plans for today a…" Blinking, gaze now raised from his feet, he focused his eyes blankly on the suitcase, comprehension not dawning even as he almost bore holes into its bulky frame with the intensity of his stare. "…are canceled," he finished numbly, stare finally flicking up to catch the profile of his severely discomforted-looking cousin sitting limply on the bed, one hand clasping his suitcase's handle as it clenched and unclenched uncertainly, arm shaking. "What're you doing?"

Head falling, arm dropping away from the suitcase as he withdrew his hands closer to his frame and clenched the fabric of his pants sheepishly, his cousin hunched his shoulders, cringing before Roxas as if he had been reduced to a child who'd broken his mother's favorite vase. Bangs overshadowing his eyes, Sora tilted his head down somewhat, teeth biting into his lip as he shrugged almost indiscernibly.

"Remember…when I first got here?" his cousin began, and the blond narrowed his eyes suspiciously, glare moving to train on the bag resting by the boy's legs. "And…you looked at me like…like I had just tried to kill you or…or something?" Sora laughed uneasily as he swung his legs against the carpet, ankles crossing and then moving apart as he squirmed. Roxas looked back at him, however, aware of what he was talking about, having remembered how the day Sora appeared in his doorway had made him almost sick to his stomach with rage. "And…you said…that I didn't belong here?"

The blond flinched and looked away, wondering what he could possibly be getting at. That was over now. Time had passed since then, a _lot _of time, and he now cherished his time with Sora just as much as he used to. Why his cousin was acting so curiously now made absolutely no sense.

"_Sora_," he groaned with a sigh, leaning heavily against the doorframe, eyes closed as he impatiently crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you _getting _at? And why the _hell _is there a suitcase at your feet?"

His cousin sighed as well, softly, fragilely, and the blond glanced up at him again, countenance stern, head cocked to the side. The boy was avoiding his stare at all costs, hand rubbing at the back of his neck before it stilled and stayed, shoulders seeming to fall as he parted his lips and opened his mouth, closed it as he floundered for words, and hesitantly opened it once more, throaty syllables making it past before any articulation did. "Maybe…" he finally managed, shutting his eyes tightly. "Maybe…you were right."

Stiffening, though saying not one thing, Roxas stared hard at the boy seated at the edge of his bed, seemingly lost in the swirl of the sheets around him as he looked everywhere but at the blond standing rigid with shock. _'What are you _talking_ about?' _he tried to get himself to demand of the brown-haired boy, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists, but for a long time silence fell, tense enough to make both shift in unease but not coaxing enough to get either to speak.

It was Sora who sucked in his breath first, leaning forward as he finally stared imploringly at the blond. "Please, Rox. Listen to me, okay? _Don't _take this the wrong way, because…because I---"

"Sora!" he, in reply, snapped in frustration, and hurriedly his cousin nodded, clasping his hands to calm the nerves that were presently being agitated by whatever worries were in his head and heart.

"…I…bought a gummi ship ticket…Rox."

His voice was so soft and pathetically small that, for one long, achingly drawn out moment, the blond found himself not understanding that the words spoken were so damagingly important. The realization, however, did not take long to set in, his eyes widening as he drew himself up further, arms shaking at his sides, water trailing down his back as his chin jerked up in alarm. Eyes, having been averted as the blond fell into a distracted kind of contemplation, clashed with his cousin's gaze as blue and wide as a summer's sky, and his jaw tightened as his nails bit more painfully into his palm, gloves not dulling the effect.

"You're…going _home_," he commented stiffly, stare never faltering, feet never shifting. "You're…you're going back to Destiny _Islands_!"

He scoffed a short laugh of incredulity, eyes widening, he completely numb to all of the words somehow tumbling past his lips it a composed manner. There was no way that this was happening; he refused to believe it. The cousin whom he'd learned to live without, his best friend who'd so ungracefully stumbled back into his neatened, collected life, who'd somehow torn down the walls Roxas had erected – and, in Sora's case, fortified – with his foolish mannerisms and optimistic smiles, was just as rapidly walking _out _of his life? The irony hurt, that the person he'd learned to rely on most could wound him so easily, and so he refused to believe this was anything but a lie.

Sora was too kind to be so cruel.

"Rox…" Sora whispered, finally removing himself from the bed so that he was standing on unsteady legs, eyes flicking away in discomfort for a brief moment before they trained on his face once more. Tilting his head, taking a ginger step forward, the brown-haired boy projected all of his remorse without any words, perhaps because he had nothing to say. There was nothing he _could _say, to ameliorate the situation, to rectify the wrongs he was committing now in leaving Roxas on his own. Sora knew that, and, more importantly, _he _knew that, and so stare narrowed viciously as his mind finally kick-started once more, rage brewing uncontrollably in his chest.

"Fuck you," he whispered softly, and his cousin faltered, crestfallen expression washing over his countenance as he looked away, not even bothering to defend himself, to plead, to bargain against Roxas's words. And that hurt most of all, because Sora thought himself so low right now, thought himself not worth as much as the mud caked underneath the blond's boots, and Roxas _knew _that wasn't true.

But he couldn't reassure him of that, because the betrayal had branded him far too badly.

"Who the hell do you think you _are_?!" he snapped in outrage, turning on his heel and rushing from the room as his cousin yelped in alarm, crashing against something in his room as his feet then padded after the blond's retreat. Still soaking wet, still unbelievably cold, Roxas headed towards the door, jerking his feet into his shoes with exaggerated twists of his ankles as he scratched at the wood, trying to get a hold on the handle as his hands kept slipping.

"Roxas, _wait_! I---!"

Wrenching the door open, the blond snarled, turned, and rounded completely on the brown-haired boy not two feet away from him. Stumbling only slightly in surprise, he recovered faster than Sora could blink, drawing himself up as he slammed the door against the wall. "Go back to your goddamn island _paradise _and leave me the hell a_lone_."

Turning around, he made to rush out of the room when desperately Sora clutched at his arm, holding him fast to the white of his carpet ending before the deep red of the hallway's floor. Baring his teeth, he jerked his head to glare at his cousin just as the boy pleaded, "I'm _sorry_. Please, Roxas, I _swear_ that I---!"

"Fuck…you."

Tearing his arm out of the stunned boy's grip, he started off in a run, taking advantage of Sora's shock so that he could get as far away as possible. Gripping the banister, swinging himself onto the top stair and promptly running down every flight, he didn't stop his pace as he raced across the lobby and out of the doors, onto the street before he knew it.

He never heard Sora's cries at his back, never met anything to prompt him to pick up his pace, but still he raced on, eyes stinging not from the wind or rain but the tears in his eyes pricking more painfully the further he distanced himself from the only family he'd ever loved. The rain pounded at his back, and his footsteps slapped against the cobblestones and through the puddles, but though he tired quickly and his lungs burned and his side ached, he never stopped.

He had to get away as far as possible as fast as possible, no delays accepted.

His palms were slamming against the familiar door before it registered in his mind that he'd stopped running, and his breath was hitching dangerously, so that he struck his hands more insistently against the wood before he fell apart. The curse inside made his heart leap, but he didn't let up, not as the footsteps neared, not as the doorknob toggled. Only when the barrier flew away from beneath his hands and familiar red hair and widened emerald eyes appeared did he stop, but only so that he could throw his arms around Axel's waist and shiver against his body, weight nearly crumpling underneath the weakened support of his legs as silently the tears blended into the fabric of the redhead's cloak.

"Rox!" he breathed in astonishment, hands fisting the soaked and freezing locks of blond hair that were now matted to Roxas's skull. "What in friggin' God's _name_ are you---?"

"Let me stay!" he cried desperately, choking on his words as he pushed himself more insistently against the redhead's frame, the man stumbling over-foot in shock. "P-please, Axel," he whispered helplessly. "Let me stay."

"Roxas, _what_…?" There was a sigh above him, but the blond didn't dare look into Axel's face, afraid of the questions, afraid of the accusations. Gasps catching in his throat, body trembling fiercely as the wind howled against his exposed frame and reminded him just how cold he really felt, he shook his head against the redhead's chest, feeling sick, feeling worthless. He wasn't enough. His cousin had been homesick since the day he'd stepped foot in Hollow Bastion, and he hadn't been enough to keep the boy happy – he hadn't been enough to keep the most annoyingly cheerful and good-hearted boy _happy_.

"Don't leave me, too," he whispered, choking again though refusing to sob, no matter how raw his throat presently was, no matter how his eyes burned even with the few tears leaking from their recesses.

Two hands running through his matted hair, the blond suddenly found his head jerked up, widened eyes trained on emerald green as he squirmed and fought to avert his gaze, lips quivering as he struggled to make up some excuse with that _look _focused on him, tried hard to think of a lie to cover up the bitter truth that he was nothing. But the redhead's warm lips suddenly on his that coaxed him so sweetly to relax, that urged the frantic shaking of his body to calm, also stole his words away, so that all that he could utter was pathetic whimpers as he wound his fingers into the neckline of Axel's shirt, kissing back with desperation as gently his friend wrapped an arm around Roxas's waist, drawing him closer to his body.

Finally, removing his lips to press them against the blond's hair, the boy panting as he pressed his cheek against Axel's jacket and closed his eyes tightly, the older male sighed and grumbled, "Don't be a jerk. Like I'd leave _you_, Roxy."

Casting his eyes downward, the blond laughed without humor. "Right. I'm just that much of a catch."

"_I _think so."

Nuzzling closer against the redhead's body, rain still gusting inwards though the open doorway, the blond shivered, feeling horribly empty. Soon enough, he would have to go back home, away from the comfort of Axel's arms, divided by a good distance of time.

And all that he'd have to greet him would be an empty apartment.

-- - --

He wasn't ashamed to cry.

To lay it out straight, that was the one thing that separated his grief from the bitter anguish that had made Roxas so ill and angry, no matter the circumstances surrounding both of their cases of heartache. The blond simply refused the warmer lifestyle he'd grown into, now that his cousin was gone; he would not open up anymore, instead walking away from Naminé's advances when he climbed the slope, rejecting her persuasions to sing – to no doubt lift _his _spirits as well as the blond youth's – and keeping himself standing in a corner, eyes averted, countenance clouded over. It was only Axel who resurrected some of that light shoved deep into the caverns of Roxas's locked-up heart, Axel who appeared so suddenly and would then so sharply slap some sense into him upside the head.

But Demyx, though just as torn apart inwardly as Roxas undoubtedly was, allowed himself the tears the blond would never shed. Lacking inspiration to even play music anymore, he climbed the hill that brought him to the gusty promontory, collapsed into the familiar feel of the plastic chair, and just leaned forward over his legs as his shoulders began to tremble, tears falling at a fast pace down his cheeks. It was because the cliff-side brought him comfort, though, that he endured the seemingly pointless walk up the slope, that he couldn't deny himself the spot overlooking the bay that he'd made a ritual of visiting every day.

Even when his back was bare of its sitar, despite the fact that he wanted no reminders of Zexion's presence, wanted no prodding or jabs to push him towards the instrument he just couldn't bring himself to play, his feet carried him along the same pathway daily, his heart breaking apart the instant he sat himself down.

He apologized through his tears whenever Naminé stopped her artwork and came to kneel at his side, feeling guilty for disrupting her painting and bothering her, feeling responsible that the crowds weren't attracted to this spot anymore and no potential buyers were asking about her work. But the blonde girl was kind, always had been to him, and she merely stroked his arm as he dissolved into a pitiful mess, wondering always why it hurt so much when he hadn't even fallen in love.

"Some people just captivate you," Naminé said softly when now he accidentally voiced his thoughts aloud, her fingers moving to intertwine with his, her lips curving into a gentle smile when he gasped and glanced up with tears clouding his eyes. "They're hard to let go."

"H-h-he…was a g-g-good _friend_…" Demyx insisted, even when she hadn't accused the dark-haired traveler of anything, even though the claimed friend of his had managed to rip his heart into bloody shreds. And as she crouched down and looked at him now, strands of golden hair falling innocently into her face, she nodded soothingly, patting his hand, never stating any disparaging comments against the man, though the darker color of her normally icy, crystalline eyes gave it away that she held much against Zexion and was absolutely furious. "H-he was…_kind _to m-me…"

"He was, Demyx," Naminé murmured, head tilting to the side, smile becoming strained. "He liked you. We could all tell."

Lower lip trembling, head dropping as he twisted his hands and then dug his nails into the wrinkles of his pants, he pleaded of her, "Then why did he l-_leave_?" in a small whisper, tears falling from his lashes as he tilted his head and cringed, desperately trying to stop his sadness before it escalated into hysterics. He would be good today; he wouldn't go over the edge.

"If you _want_, Dem, I can hunt him down and burn his sorry ass." In horror, the sitarist looked up to see Axel lingering off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, body tilted slightly as he cocked his head in a contemplative manner, the glitter of his eyes and grin on his face anything but innocent. "I promise I'll do a good enough job so no one can ever know."

"D-don't---!"

"He's joking…Demyx," Naminé murmured calmly, so that he was coaxed to look back at her, panicked gaze focused on her softened one, frame shaking as he bit his lip. "But he shouldn't tease you." Her head turned and she leveled her stare on the redhead, nothing in her countenance shifting but manner seeming somewhat more imposing. "You're not in the right state of mind."

"Oh, stop _babying _the kid. He's twenty-freakin'-four years old. He'll get _over _this little puppy-dog crush in a week, _you'll _see."

This time, Naminé's brow arched. "Oh?" she said calmly, expression softening and confident smile relaxing his lips. "_You _didn't."

The redhead snorted, looking away as he closed his eyes and shrugged. "That's different. I just secretly wanted to get into Roxas's pants." Scoffing somewhat, he allowed himself a smirk even as he looked away from them. "'Course, my intentions got side-tracked, but even the best-laid plans go awry."

Twisting in discomfort, catching Naminé's wrist before she could spare the stubborn male across from them any more words, he captured her gaze with his pleading one and she sighed, nodding as she pushed herself up from the ground and patted him gently on the shoulder.

"I'll go now then, Demyx," she murmured, smiling as she stepped back and held her hands before her, head tilted as she composed herself neatly under his gaze. Struggling to smile, the sitarist finally nodded back, though he was anything but back to normal. "You take care, all right? And don't listen to Axel. You know better."

Laughing softly at her words, slightly cheered, he watched as she flashed him an encouraging smile and then turned back to her paints, gathering them, her canvas, and its easel in a professionally quick manner. Upon managing to hold everything in her grip, too, she looked back to smile at him once more, and weakly Demyx waved, watching as she paused, sighed, and walked off, slightly delayed in her exit as Roxas crested the hill, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes trained on his shoes. He hesitated for her, too, the first time in several days, but from the look of disappointment on her features it appeared as if a close conversation between them was still a long way's off.

Eyes traveling with Roxas as the blond-haired boy finally started towards them upon sparing the blonde girl a few mumbled words, Naminé sighing, nodding to herself, and then heading out of sight, Demyx noticed Axel watching the boy even more keenly, an almost nervous expression contorting the man's elegant features. It surprised the musician, though, to realize that the blond was not heading off to meet the redhead; instead, Demyx blinked – tears trailing down his cheeks once more as he did so – to find the blond come to a stop before him, head still bowed, hands still lodged into the depths of his jeans.

"Hey," he began, and the sitarist jumped, eyes widening in surprise. Roxas was talking to him, civilly and willingly; honestly, the dirty-blond didn't know what to make of it – was it an improvement or not? "Sorry…about that bastard," the blond finally muttered, and Demyx, for lack of knowing what else to do, simply shook his head and laughed painfully, tears spilling from his eyes again. Finally glancing up, Roxas forced a smile, lifting his hand to hit him lightly in the shoulder, the gesture somewhat hesitant. "Dunce that you are, you're still cool, Dem; and if he so much as bothers you again, I'll kill him, 'kay?"

"Axel's a…b-bad influence on you," he joked in reply, forcing a short laugh, his words even encouraging a smile on the younger boy's part. Efforts dwindling down fast, however, Demyx bowed his head and choked softly on his tears, pressing his palms to his eyes as he sniffled, struggling against the overwhelming grief surging up once more. "And I'm o_kay_!" he whined, shuddering gasps tumbling past his lips as his face seared red, the realization that both males, so much more proud and confident than he, were there to watch his magnificent collapse into nothing more than a whimpering fool – as Zexion would say, at any rate.

He yelped when suddenly his hair was fisted harshly, and as he sucked in a breath when his head was jerked up, cringing at the pain, he blinked open his bleary gaze to stare at Roxas's calm countenance in bewilderment, wondering what had gotten into the blond.

"No crying," he demanded, voice smooth but eyes narrowing. "He's not worth the heart you wear on your sleeve."

"I-I---"

"Demyx, cut the crap." Upon sighing in annoyance, the barest hint of a smile ghosted Roxas's lips, and the musician watched as the boy gave a half-shrug at him, tilting his head. "He was nobody; just a heartless bastard who wouldn't know a relationship from a one-night stand. Let him go."

The sitarist cringed at this, the absent comment striking truer than the blond had meant, most likely. Braving a smile, though, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as finally Roxas eased the grip he held on his hair, Demyx calmed in a gradual way, the blond in front of him letting his head loll lazily to the side as his stare traveled, though it was obvious from the way he kept in place that his concerns for the sitarist's condition were still present.

"You're just stronger than I am," Demyx finally managed, laughing slightly as he sniffled, lowering his arm to his lap as he hesitantly raised his watery, sea green gaze towards Roxas's wandering one.

Stiffening, flicking that biting oceanic stare back at a fast enough rate to cause the dirty-blond-haired youth to flinch, Roxas narrowed his eyes, mouth curling into a bitter frown. "'m a coward," he muttered in self-loathing, kicking at the ground as his eyes then focused on the dust, he jamming his hands further into his pockets.

"_That's _not---"

"I'm going to claim back Blondie now, Dem, 'kay?" Axel's voice cut in suddenly, reminding the musician that he was still there. Looking up, he watched as Roxas started in surprise as the redhead wrapped his arms around his upper torso, beaming as he rested his chin on the blond's left shoulder, Cheshire grin in place. "He is _my _toy, after all. You're making me jealous, talking to him as much as you are."

"You have issues," Roxas muttered, but, curiously enough, he didn't resist Axel's advances, even looked off to the side as Axel lifted his head and kissed him teasingly against the chin, and, in Demyx's opinion, the light seemed to dim from the redhead's eyes. No doubt he wanted the regular Roxas back as much as Naminé did, as much as _he _did. But the blond was just a difficult case; he had so many problems he wouldn't share, and so many layers you had to unravel before you could even touch his heart.

"C'mon, Roxy. Back to my house we go."

Tiredly the blond complied, falling against the man's chest for a second of rest before he stepped out of the embrace entirely, running his hands through his blond locks, gaze focused far away from either of them. Piteously, Demyx glanced up at Axel, biting his lip in regret, but the redhead only glanced at him, no doubt judging his sympathies as unimportant, troublesome even. Clapping his hand on the blond's shoulder as his emerald eyes glanced away, he steered Roxas in the opposite direction, tousling his hair afterwards in a friendly manner as he pushed his closest friend and treasured lover towards the home he'd always keep open for the boy.

Demyx was envious of them, he realized when his eyes wouldn't stop watching their retreat. Roxas's heart was as broken as his was, and yet he still had someone – above the _regular_ people who loved him – who adored and cherished him in such a more filling and healing way. The sitarist only had his instrument, which at the present he had no desire to play, and the friends he treasured were suffering from the domino effect of pain that had fallen onto their shoulders with Roxas's withdrawal and Demyx's rejection of music. Suddenly, the dirty-blond-haired male felt so alone, so abandoned, and he wished, more than ever, that Zexion was standing just a way's from where he sat, that composed expression cooling his eyes, that faint smile almost flittering to his lips. He'd made Demyx feel wanted, feel _desired_, no matter the multiple times he'd at first pushed the musician away, and, no matter what Roxas ordered of him, the sitarist could never push the man from his heart.

Folding his hands now, propping his elbows against his thighs as he rested his intertwined fingers against his lips, the youthful male stared off into the distance, vision wavering every now and again as he sucked in shallow breaths, chest heaving despite his efforts to calm. But again, as he did every day, after every attempt to strengthen himself against the memories, after every effort on his friends' parts to convince him that he didn't need the dark-haired man anymore, Demyx allowed the tears to course down his cheeks, regret coming back full force as he bit into his lip.

It was just another day in Hollow Bastion and he was crying, missing Zexion more than he'd ever missed anything in his life.

-- - --

Plainly put, life was a living hell.

The feel of the wheel beneath his hands should've been comforting, just as the road stretched before his windshield and the books juggling inside the box resting on the passenger's seat should have lulled him into a calmer state than presently he was in. But with every mile he put behind, some small part of him called him back to the place he was running from, making him wonder if he'd made a mistake.

And the farther he traveled, the more convinced he became that he had.

It seemed impossibly ridiculous, that the farther he fared from that miserable little import and export town, the more agitated he, in turn, became. That he would drive right on through more welcoming looking settlements now, staying for only a day or two in some cheap motel just to ease his mind of so much traveling and rest himself with sleep, seemed superfluous, pointless, and he cursed himself again and again for running from ghosts that would never reach him. He was safe, with nothing but the sky and earth to catch his eyes and keep him held to the present. He needn't dwell in the past; in fact, he _hated _dwelling in the past, as he'd told Demyx in the last conversation he'd had with the musician. So why was he only thinking of memories?

Perhaps it had been the music that triggered it, though. When the hum of the engine had gotten to be too much for his irritated nerves to bear upon first exiting the urban area he'd inhabited for two long, soon-to-be-forgotten weeks, his hand had acted on its own accord and had switched the radio on, music flooding his senses immediately. But the calculated tunes of the classical greats didn't register in his mind as his gaze narrowed further on the road, hands clenching to hold the steering wheel tight, body stiffening mildly as he gritted his teeth. Instead, a flash of Demyx's grinning countenance in his mind's eye startled him, and one of the frivolous melodies the youth loved to play and have that blond-haired miscreant sing to became stuck in his head, so that a growl tore from his throat as he finally cut the music off, body trembling only slightly as he increased the speed of his car.

Frazzled by such a shocking surge of emotions, he argued nonsensically that he could escape the binds of the sitarist's spell if only he drove faster. But days had passed since then and always he had driven the automobile far beyond the legal limit, and he hadn't been able to turn on the radio once.

It was frustrating, to realize that all his efforts to distance his heart's influence from that of his brain's had become null and void with the appearance of one utterly naïve dirty-blond in a town he could never find himself embracing. He'd always been a sensible person, well-read and intelligent, and yet he'd been stupid enough to let his fascinations be captured by a person so imperfect in nature it should've irked him otherwise. Yet, instead of hating the youth as he'd originally set out to do, Zexion had become captivated, and now the effects, it seemed, were irreversible.

No matter how many miles he covered or how many days he traveled, it would always be Demyx in his mind.

He wished it was otherwise. He wished that, with every promising civilization he passed and every comfortable café he lingered in for hours, wasting the days away reading books at a table – _alone _for once – and drinking his coffee in peace, he didn't think back to cafés where waitresses were far too kind and didn't leave him be like the rest did, to rambunctious crowds that trampled his feet and didn't know to avoid him as he walked absently down the road, and to distractingly infectious laughter that never failed to make him glance up in curiosity. But he couldn't deny, no matter how hard he tried, that that place was calling him back more intensely the farther he distanced himself from it.

The road before him and the places he happened into couldn't change it; Hollow Bastion just kept getting closer and clearer in his mind wherever his travels landed him next.

And as always, though he drew himself away from people and allowed only his texts to keep him company, Demyx just kept becoming more important in his heart.

Now, as he drummed his fingertips against the wheel, eyes narrowed in response to his frivolous musings, body agitated into a ramrod-straight position as the dusk glimmered over the trees and a few scattered cars sped past him in the opposite direction, he felt restless, discontent. He was just driving for the sake of it now, without a place in mind to go, without a pressing need to be anywhere at the moment. So when his car slowed its hazardous speed, pulling over to the side of the road, he was surprised, the engine still growling as he stared at the endless route before him, two cars drifting past as he spiraled in and out of his daze, ad he was uncertain. It seemed the will of his heart and mind had driven him towards a perilously-weighed impasse, only the turn of his wheel significant enough to decide what he wanted once and for all. And he toyed with the notions in his mind, fingertips skimming the steering wheel in thought as his eyes wandered down the road, dissatisfied with the way it suddenly seemed to just go on pointlessly forever, never bringing himself towards a way of life beneficial to him. So when he eased out from the side of the road as another car sped by, opening up a stretch of space for the next car, still in the distance, to travel, he on impulse crossed into opposing lane, turned around in his direction and headed back slowly towards the place he'd fled.

Strangely enough, too, the decision felt impossibly right, he burning daylight up to get back to the place Demyx was.

-- - --

Axel, being Axel and thus difficult, wouldn't let him go home.

He, in retort, always insisted that he was fine, because he was Roxas and he was stubborn. And, every day, he always tried to walk out that door unnoticed, telling himself that he could stand the silence, that he could take the abandoned memories that would meet him when stepping into the empty atmosphere of his own apartment home. But upon every attempt, he either stalled at the entranceway and convinced himself that it wouldn't be so bad to stay, or he was caught before that same thought process could kick in once more and promptly pushed far away from the _tempting _wiles of his house door, as Axel so outrageously put. Either way, the blond could never get himself beyond the front hall, and, no matter that he always felt that he was imposing on the redhead's hospitality, Axel's was where he always remained.

That was why, presently, he was camped out on the couch, brooding as he crossed his arms over his chest and propped his feet unceremoniously onto the coffee table, eyes trained on the glowing face of the television but attentions anywhere but the humming box.

"_What?_" Axel laughed now, placing his hands on Roxas's shoulders as he leaned over him from behind the blond, fingers gently kneading against the tensed nerves. "God, kid, is there ever a time when you _don't _PMS?"

Grunting in annoyance, he leaned forward, thinking that just avoiding the redhead would take less energy than offering some biting reply, but Axel didn't take to being ignored, and he pulled Roxas back against the couch, hands still in place on his shoulders. "_Tch_," he muttered in response, tilting his head as he directed his glower towards his lap, wishing that he could just muster up the courage to face a life where he was almost completely alone again.

"'m not in the mood," was all he replied when Axel leaned down, not taking kindly to the blond's silence. Sighing into Roxas's ear now, the redhead grumbled unintelligibly, the whisper of his breath causing the blond to shiver in reaction as a provoked smile rose and fell from his lips. Tilting his head away, he ordered, "Stop it."

The blond felt slightly triumphant when he sensed the presence of the bothersome redhead pull away, but then he jumped in alarm when the man leapt over the couch, the cushions bouncing beneath the both of them as Axel leaned back on his hands and grinned, Roxas unnaturally stiff in his seat as he shot a bewildered glance towards his companion.

"Hey, gorgeous. Is this seat taken?"

"By your butt now, yeah," Roxas grumbled, slumping down into the cushions again with a pissed-off expression, legs back on the wood of the table, arms crossing over his chest. Narrowing his stare on the television, he made a valiant effort to tune into the carpet cleaning commercial, thinking maybe when his life grew to be so pathetic he could fall back on such _useful _information, but, in his defense, he was too distracted by Axel's suddenly pestering hands to give it a whole-hearted try. "Shove _off_! I'm _watching _TV!" he exclaimed as the redhead teasingly poked him in the ribs.

Hesitating, sending him a dry look, Axel then looked over his shoulder and scoffed a laugh. "Didn't know you were so interested in the engaging practice of celebrity dating," he drawled in amusement.

"It's truly enthralling," Roxas quipped in response upon giving the show that had just come on a quick glance, voice devoid of all enthusiasm, and his best friend stared back with a wicked grin, leaning down as he placed his hands teasingly on the blond's sides once more.

"You know, you don't have to be such a recluse, Roxy. You have your very own boyfriend to play with; I'd like to think I'm far more interesting."

Letting his head fall back, the blond laughed softly in response, Axel's fingers tickling his sides mercilessly to encourage a more hysterical reaction out of him. Writhing, Roxas twitched and kicked his legs against the redhead's body, protesting against the torture and struggling to fend the redhead off. Finally, after the blond resorted to pulling at his assailant's hair just as ruthlessly, Axel eased up, now kneeling on the floor as his upper body stayed sprawled over Roxas, he grinning as the blond panted and pressed against his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, agitated sigh escaping his lips.

"A-Axel," he groaned with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as his hand fell away and his stare leveled on emerald gems twinkling with mirth as they stared back at him. "Get off, you idiot."

Arms wrapping around the blond's waist, the redhead smirked, leaned back, and promptly dragged Roxas's protesting person off of the couch. With a yelp the boy landed in his lap, his back then pushed against the cushions he'd previously been sitting on as his boyfriend leaned forward, sardonic expression surprisingly in place.

"You," he began seriously, arm snaking around Roxas's back as he leaned forward, mouth tauntingly hovering just a short distance away from the youth's lips, "are going to cut the crap, too, my adorable, moping, blond friend; just like you told Demyx. Or else you'll be kept my prisoner." With that he tilted his head and smirked, left hand gently resting against Roxas's hip, their noses brushing as Axel leaned forward.

"Freak," Roxas mumbled with a short laugh, leaning forward to kiss Axel gently before he then broke away with a sigh – the redhead moaning no doubt accidentally as he did so – and leaned his forehead against the older male's chest. Snuggling closer to his body, he pushed his cheek against the softness of Axel's shirt and wrapped his arms around his waist, content to stay like this, feeling that, even if his mind wandered, he'd be protected. "But I guess I'll have to live with it."

"You love me," the older male prodded teasingly. "You _adore _me. You can never live _without_ me. Admit it."

"Whatever," the blond mumbled with a laugh.

Tousling his hair affectionately, Axel began to trail his fingers along Roxas's back just as the doorbell suddenly rang, and in question the blond glanced up, arching his brow at the unresponsive man. Scowling in discontent, the redhead stubbornly wrapped his arms around Roxas's waist, back against the coffee table, eyes challengingly clashing with his own oceanic blue. Appraising him with two raised brows now, Roxas snorted, tilting his head.

"You going to get the _door_?"

"Don't wanna," he drawled, lips quirking into a grin. "'sides. Maybe if we ignore whoever-it-is, they'll go away."

"You're full of crap," Roxas laughed, pushing at his chest, struggling to free himself from the male's persistent grasp. "Just answer the door." As if in an effort to prompt the redhead, the doorbell rang again, and the blond shot Axel an I-told-you-so look, head tilted to the side, brow arched.

"And relinquish my hold on _you_, Roxy?" the redhead grinned, pulling him back; Roxas winced as his back scraped against the couch's edge. "Don't be crazy."

Again the doorbell rang, and, annoyed, the blond pushed himself back into a standing position, stepping over Axel's crossed legs, heading down the hall. "Fine. If _you_ won't answer it, then _I _wi---"

"Sit your ass back on that couch," the redhead said with a smirk, pushing him to the side as he passed, tapping his forehead idly as he advanced towards the doorway. Huffing indignantly, Roxas scowled at his smug countenance. "_I'm _the gentleman of the house, _dear_."

"Bastard," the blond bit, but grudgingly he complied with the request, trudging back towards the couch and slumping into the cushions. With a heavy sigh, too, he again propped his feet onto the coffee table, eyes trained immediately on the screen, brain shutting down as he allowed himself to be lost in the heavenly abyss of thoughtlessness as Axel dealt with no doubt another door-to-door salesman; it was that, anyway, or Naminé, and it was good that the redhead answered, because Roxas wasn't ready to face the petite blonde yet.

Head tilting lazily against the cushions as the familiar padding of Axel's boots across the floor managed to register in his mind, the blond glanced up into the redhead's countenance as he walked into the living room, brows raised, one hand tangled in his fiery locks. Blinking at the male's look of surprise, he leaned forward, forearms resting against his sides as he cocked his head.

"Rox…" Axel began, laughing slightly in disbelief, but at the movement behind him the blond looked abruptly away, eyes trying to make out the distant figure as the person stepped closer. When he stepped into full view, though, eyes darting about the room in mild interest, hands shoved into his pockets casually as he strolled before the bewildered redhead, Roxas leapt up, shaking his head, pointing furiously.

"Get him _out_!" Finally looking back at him, the male arched a brow, aquamarine eyes flashing beneath silver bangs as a cool grimace hardened the line of his lips. The youth said nothing as tension stretched and crackled in the open space before all three figures, and in rage Roxas rounded on the speechless redhead, clenching his fist in the air. "He's not _welcome _here!"

"I see you remember me, then," the silver-haired teen remarked placidly, leaning back on his heels as the blond bared his teeth and flicked his eyes back towards him. "Not that I honestly care. I'm not here for heartfelt reunions, after all. Just trying to get your half-brained cousin to stop sulking all the goddamn day." Tilting his head to the side, silver bangs falling into his vision, he motioned with the flick of his wrist. "So hurry up."

"Why're you here, Riku? Shouldn't you be wasting away in your secluded little island home and remain as far away from _my _life as _possible_?"

"Thought it was obvious, stupid," he muttered, and Roxas snarled in contempt. "And trust me; it's a grim day indeed when I have to come to _you _for help."

Before he could snap any scathing retort, Axel leaned forward, hands on his hips as he interrupted by asking, "Er…mind telling me who your blast from the past is, Roxy?"

Glancing over distractedly, he waved his hand in feigned nonchalance, trying to act as if the very sight of Riku looking so relaxed in the threshold to Axel's living room didn't irk him in the slightest. "Sora's best friend. We didn't hit it off too well when I visited him on Destiny Islands."

The redhead snorted in disbelief. "Wasn't that _years_---?"

"Now that introductions are over," Riku muttered, shrugging, "can you get your lazy ass out that door, Roxas? I don't want to be the delivery boy any more than you want me here."

"'m not _going any_where," the blond spat.

"So you're still as much of a stubborn ass as ever, aren't you?"

"Say that again, I dare y---!"

The doorbell rang once more, effectively cutting him off, and Axel groaned irritably. "Was just getting good, too," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he swaggered out of the room, leaving Roxas and Riku to stare each other down threateningly as neither budged from their position. Arms stiff at his sides, the blond clenched his fists as his temper flared, wanting more than anything to beat all of his rage, frustration, and uncertainty out on the smug-looking youth directly opposite of him. But he couldn't, that he knew, and it only served to infuriate him more.

Axel's footsteps sounding once more momentarily distracted him from the silver-haired problem bringing down his mood, and as he glanced up warily he was surprised to see a pretty red-haired girl at his heels, gliding around him when he stopped and raised his brow at Roxas in disbelief. Coming to halt beside Riku, she touched his wrist and he leaned down, she murmuring something in his ear as her countenance shifted into that of a stern expression. Rolling his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he nodded calmly, the silver-haired youth glanced back finally to meet Roxas's oceanic gaze and the male gritted his teeth for an instance, then relaxing his features.

"We can't wait all day, Roxas. So come along or not, I don't really care. Sora's losing his nerve, and---"

"---he really wants to see you," the girl cut in, placing her hands on her hips defiantly, and Riku had the grace to look amused, irritation fading as he shook his head at the girl. Roxas, however, merely arched his brows, glancing towards Axel in surprise; the man, on his part, looked close to laughing. "Now quit being such a baby and hurry up. I'm sick of all you men being such _idiots_!" With that, she whirled on her heel, sparing a quick word of thanks to an extremely amused Axel lingering in the doorway still, and headed out. Riku, snorting as he shook his head, turned as well, making to follow.

"I wouldn't piss Kairi off any further if I were you," he warned, and then he was walking out, as well.

"Kairi…" Roxas mumbled in a daze, looking towards his friend for help as he lingered in a stunned manner in the same place he'd been standing for such a long time, and then it clicked. Blinking, shaking his head, he found himself following after them despite his great reluctance, Axel grabbing at his shirt before he could make it past his lounging figure and slinging his arm around him when he looked up with a questioning expression.

"You okay about this?" he asked, dubious look on his features.

"No," he admitted, but he eased himself out of the half-embrace anyway, now jogging towards the front door and through the open entranceway before the redhead could convince him against his actions. Immediately he stopped when he caught sight of Riku pressing one fist into his cousin's skull in an absent form of scolding, free arm slung around his shoulders to hold him in place; hesitating, uncertain look washing over his features, he stepped back just as the redheaded Kairi glanced up from watching them mildly, soft smile spreading over her lips.

"So?" she asked, and at her voice both boys looked up, Riku sighing in perhaps relief, Sora yelping in shame and ducking down. "What's _that_ look for?"

Tensing his jaw in agitation, he stared for a long moment at his cousin, ignoring Kairi's questioning words, ignoring Riku's increasing annoyance, and then he shook his head, stepping back. "Go away. Stop bothering me. _All _of you." Turning on his heel, he made to walk back to Axel's house, glowering angrily as the man lingered on the threshold and tilted his head curiously at him.

"Wait! Rox! I'm sorry!"

Stopping, looking downwards, the blond merely shrugged. "Don't care."

"I…I know. But---"

"You can't just abandon me and expect forgiveness, _Sora_. I don't _care_. Stop screwing me over and just stay out of my life for good."

"I…but…!" There was a weary sigh, and then his cousin spared no more words, perhaps hanging his head in defeat, undoubtedly knowing that, no matter what he said, he couldn't redeem himself in the blond's eyes. Faced away from the boy, though, cringing as he replied with a broken, "Yeah…" Roxas let the full extent of his emotions flood across his countenance, shallow rage replaced with utter desolation and grief; Axel, watching from the doorway, stared pointedly at him to speak the truth, but thankfully the man didn't try to fight his battle for him, and so Roxas could get away with lying, no matter what the cost.

"You're honestly going to let him incriminate himself?" came an unfamiliar voice, and it took Roxas turning around and searching out the speaker to realize that the feminine tone came from the Kairi girl staring straight at him, hands clasped behind her back as she leaned her weight on her heels. "Sora's human, you know; like you. And I'm sorry if he wasn't brought up under the same circumstances that you were, but he did lose his mother – we were there; we saw his grief." Narrowing his eyes at her, he silently begged her to stop, to quit trying to coax him to open his heart again, but the girl was too proud, and she only stared right back, tilting her head as she smiled slightly. "What if it had been you, there on Destiny Islands, away from your friend over there," she gestured towards Axel with a wave of her hand, "and with only _us_," she brought her hand back to her chest and gave a slightly piteous look as she smiled still, "to keep you company? Would you have been happy?"

"I would have stayed!" he protested.

"That wasn't my question," Kairi murmured softly, lowly, and Roxas cringed and looked away, refusing to answer.

"Truth of the matter _is_," Riku broke in impatiently, not willing to let another long silence fall between them, "we asked Sora to come back." Jerking his chin up, he swung his stunned gaze towards the silver-haired teen resting his hand on an uncomfortable-looking Sora's shoulder, the brown-haired boy unable to meet his inquiring gaze. "He didn't show you the letters, of course, 'cause the kid's an idiot and thought he'd bother you, but yeah, we kept in touch, and so we knew he was hurting. And we knew what a _jackass _you were to him, though he was too optimistic to admit that and too kind to embellish the details." Snorting contemptuously, Riku momentarily slapped the boy upside the head, making Sora smile sheepishly in reply. "The doofus really loves you, whether you care or not; and, though he wanted to come home more than anything, it took us a year and a half to convince him to make one little visit home. _One_." Looking up with a glare, he bared his teeth in a growl. "You know – how he only took a _single suitcase_?"

Face flaring in embarrassment now, the blond ducked his head, gaze focused on the tops of his sneakers as he shook his head in disbelief. To say that it was all just a huge misunderstanding would be a vast understatement; to put it bluntly, even crudely, he'd royally fucked up, and he'd severely wounded the one person who'd been by his side, trying to make him a better person, from the minute he walked back into the blond's life. He'd resisted the temptation to just go home for a whole _year _and a _half_, _just _to be with Roxas; no matter that the whole time his existence had been ignored, that his feelings had been disregard, Sora had stayed through it all, and, first chance he'd had to reunite with the friends he'd so sorely missed, Roxas had torn him apart.

Digging his nails into his palms now, gritting his teeth as he exaggeratedly shook his head, he wanted badly to just thrash his temper out on something, hopefully hurting himself and thus slamming sense into himself in the process. He'd never thought lower of himself until this moment.

"Hey."

Glancing up, staring wide-eyed at his cousin suddenly smiling hesitantly before him, Roxas stepped back, biting his lip, finally averting his gaze. "I didn't mean it," he pleaded of the boy, feeling like dirt to think that he had the gall to ask for forgiveness from his cousin. "You didn't deserve such treatment. I…you can go home, Sora. You can be happy there. Really. I'll…I'll manage, I promise. Don't---"

"If it's all right…" his cousin replied, and in pain Roxas nodded, bowing his head as his eyes began to burn. Right; as open-hearted as his cousin was, it was expected that he would choose the home he loved and the people he cherished over the technicality of flesh-and-blood. The blond wasn't worthy of a second chance. "…I'd…like…to stay here, Rox."

Jerking his chin up, breath catching as a tear coursed down his cheek unheeded, he parted his lips, making to question him on the intelligence and overall sanity of such a decision, but no words made it out of his mouth. Finally, unintelligibly, he stammered, "Wh-what?" making Sora laugh slightly as he lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his head.

Gritting his teeth, the blond tilted his head to the side, small grin resurfacing on his lips, he about to agree with what his cousin asked of him. But then he remembered the boy's misery, the months upon months Roxas had simply ignored him, the loneliness the dark-haired youth had had to deal with when he just couldn't make new friends in Hollow Bastion. And Roxas realized that he couldn't submit the boy to such a life again; he would look out for his cousin this time, even if it hurt him severely.

"Sora, no," he stated firmly at last, eyes narrowing, countenance grave as he watched his cousin's smile fall from his lips. "Just…go home. I'll---"

"---be absolutely _miserable _again and hate the world and blah, blah, blah, Roxas," Axel cut in from behind them, and in agitation to blond swung his attention over his shoulder, glaring at the man who smirked back cheekily at him. "Save it, hmm? Your martyr act is exhausting."

Sora gave a short laugh, interrupting any words he was about to spare the green-eyed man holding his stare smugly, and tiredly Roxas glanced back, rubbing at his neck hesitantly as he shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you, then. You don't want to be here, right? And I'm not gonna just let you get hurt like that again. So why should I let you stay when you're only going to want to leave again?"

"I'm not, though," Sora remarked cheerily, and doubtfully the blond glanced up, brow arched as he leveled his cousin with a dry stare. In reply, the boy laughed once more. "I _mean _it, Rox. Riku and Kairi said they'd be able to visit during the summers, now that they've started saving up enough money for it."

The blond blinked, startled, and glanced over his cousin's shoulder to give the pair a dubious look. Surprise fading away into a look of grim resolve, he grumbled bitterly, "They're not staying in _my _apartment," and ecstatically Sora grinned, shaking his head, agreeing easily enough. Lopsided grin grudgingly coaxed into place with his cousin's brightened mood, Roxas then sheepishly scratched his cheek, giving a shrug of his shoulders as he mumbled, "And I guess I kinda missed you, Sora." There was a disbelieving snort from behind him, but the blond merely rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore Axel entirely.

Beaming, the brown-haired youth didn't hesitate to throw his arms around the blond, the affection quite startling Roxas as he stiffened in alarm, unaware of what to do. Lingering away from the two, Kairi giggled, no doubt amused by his facial expression, and Riku shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing away in a bored manner as he kicked at the cobblestones, momentarily grimacing at its feel beneath his sneaker. And as the blond just remained still and startled in the embrace, he realized that this was the first time he'd fully hugged his cousin, and that knowledge was enough to encourage him to tentatively circle his arms around the boy's back.

"You're staying, right?" he murmured cautiously, eyes downcast, hold still delicately loose.

"'course! Destiny Islands'll always _be _there, Rox. And after college, maybe you can go back to it with me."

"Maybe," he muttered, and then, relaxing his muscles, he brought his hands to his cousin's shoulders and pushed him away, head tilted as he took in the cheered countenance of the boy. "Hey, Sora? How'd you know to look for me here? Or even where Axel _lived_?"

"Oh!" Laughing sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head, the brown-haired youth shrugged. "That artist girl? Naminé? We ran into her walking away from your apartment; she told us to come here."

Rolling his eyes, Roxas grinned ruefully. "Of course she did."

"Anyway, _Sora_? Can you hurry it up? I think it's gonna rain."

Simultaneously, both cousins looked over to see Riku glowering impatiently at the sky, Kairi curiously holding her hands out to test for water droplets. From the corner of his eye, the blond caught his cousin smiling fondly at them, linking both hands behind his head as he lingered at Roxas's side for a moment, and then Sora looked over, wrinkling his nose in good humor. "You gonna be at the apartment later tonight?"

Pausing, pulling at his hair slightly in thought, the blond finally shook his head. "Tomorrow. You catch up with them a little more."

As the boy nodded, wide smile on his face, a soft downpour suddenly fell down from the storm clouds, making Riku growl in frustration and Kairi laugh softly, arms held out at her sides, head tilted upwards to experience the feel of the water on her face. Starting off, waving with exaggeration, Sora then jogged to the two and grinned, walking backwards as he pulled at both of their wrists and warned that they'd better seek shelter before it _really_ started to rain. And as Roxas watched them leave, feeling Axel come to stand beside him and drape his jacket over his shoulders as the blond didn't move from his spot, he leaned into the man's chest, contented smile on his face.

On the one hand, he was letting his cousin go, watching him disappear with his friends to find happiness in this town that Roxas could never bring him. But, on the other hand, he was keeping Sora that much closer, because the boy had chosen to stay, and he always kept his promises.

And for Roxas, that his cousin would always chose to be there no matter what…it was really enough.

-- - --

Naminé, determined spirit revived now that Roxas had opened his heart to her again, had become convinced to cheer Demyx up at all costs. That was why, at the moment, she was pulling him up the hill by hand, the musician toting his instrument along with him against his will as the blonde smiled calmly back at him, assuring the sitarist that this would help him get over his heartache if he simply fell back into doing what he loved. The dirty-blond was doubtful, nervous even, but he smiled weakly for her all the same, having always found her quiet resolve to be cute.

Cresting the hill, not surprised at all to see both cousins already there, Roxas bickering as always with an amused Axel, Sora laughing with the friends from Destiny Islands who'd accompanied his travels back to Hollow Bastion. The sight was a heart-warming one, that much Demyx admitted, but he was still deeply rooted in his melancholy and couldn't find it in himself to be completely cheered by the sight of all of them; instead, he was admittedly somewhat jealous at their happiness.

"Dem!"

Laughing cheerfully, Sora leapt up from the ground, jogging over to meet him. The musician, standing before his seat, arms halfway behind him in his paused struggle to lower the sitar from his back, glanced up to see the more youthful of the two cousins beaming at him, looking positively thrilled to be back. It was the first time in a while the musician remembered seeing such unbridled joy filling every inch of the boy's countenance, and reluctantly Demyx gave a smile, because the teen's optimism was as infectious as the sitarist heard his own was.

"I heard you haven't been playing much," he tried now, calming as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a knowing grin. Demyx, in turn, winced, smiling back, thankful that Sora wasn't the kind of person to prod about personal matters; he left it as it was, only slightly treading on dangerous territory to extend his sympathies before helpfully stepping away. "Well, I know how much you like to hear Rox sing and all, so I thought that this would kind of cheer you up, too." Glancing over momentarily, the boy stared at his two friends talking, oblivious to his attention; then, looking back, he grinned sincerely. "Kairi, she sings, too. She's got a beautiful voice, y'know. And imagine if Roxas and she sang _together_?"

Smiling sadly, the dirty-blond finally eased the instrument from his back, collapsing thereafter into his seat. "I know what you're trying to do, Sora, and thanks for that, but I'm kind of not ready yet."

Grinning genuinely still, the boy nodded, shrugging his shoulders. "Sure. Just tell your friend Naminé that I tried my best."

Laughing slightly as Sora waved and turned around, walking back towards the silver-haired male and redheaded female and standing over them as he shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned, Demyx shook his head, resting his sitar against his legs casually. It was remarkable, how quickly the kid bounced back. He always saw the good in everything, and he always composed himself calmly, thinking rationally for the most part, taking uncertainties in stride.

Unlike the boy, Demyx took everything too personally, holding injuries close to his heart, unable to let them go. He became too attached too fast, while Sora valued slowly-formed, genuine friendships, and so the musician was far too idealistic and naïve when it came to real-life matters, thus taking a long time to recover from shock and heartache. He wanted to have that sense of pride and confidence, like Roxas with his ability to push all issues out of his path and deal with troubles with an air of anger or indifference, or like Sora with his ability to always manage a smile despite anything, but Demyx was weak, simply said.

Zexion was right to call him pathetic.

Thoughts wandering, fingers idly plucking at random notes on his sitar as his gaze wandered, he watched Roxas struggling as Axel wrapped his arms around his stomach, the boy laughing and kicking half-heartedly, and then flicked his attention towards Sora, the boy plopping down beside his friends at last and slinging his arms around each of their shoulders, the female giggling, the male rolling his eyes in playful annoyance. Smiling ruefully, wishing for their happiness, he absently trailed his fingers on the strings of his sitar and thought of when Zexion was there, making him feel more alive than he'd ever felt before, allowing him to smile brightly without being concerned with repercussions and just gradually get attached. The male, for all his issues with companionship and closeness, had been kind in a subtle way, gradually allowing Demyx to take him by the hand and lead him around, slightly opening up to reveal emotions in his eyes which he'd pushed behind a façade of sharp indifference. And the sitarist missed his presence.

Unfocused gaze snapping back to reality as he made to escape such a self-hazardous thought process, Demyx noticed that all of the attentions of his friends and _their _friends were trained intently on him. Blinking, tilting his head skeptically, he directed his gaze to the left, catching Naminé's relieved smile as she pressed her brush against the canvas; puzzled, he furrowed his brows in contemplation, and then, suddenly, the sound of his music caught up with him, so that he paused to be sure that he was really playing once more, too dubious to believe that it was his music resounding in his ears. The melody halting, Sora calling after in a joking whine for him to keep up the pace, the silver-haired teen at his side commenting that it wasn't half bad, Demyx trailed his fingers along the strings again, song instantly picking up once more, and he laughed in startled delight, lowering his head as the music swept around him.

Suddenly, completely unprompted, his inspiration had returned.

Well, not necessarily unprompted. His optimistic thoughts of Zexion's person had lessened the throbbing of his heart, so that, with the pain somewhat dulled, he'd been able to push forth the melodies he harbored inside. But to his friends gathered around him, to Roxas, Naminé, and even Sora supporting him in his battle to recover from a broken heart, they probably assumed that this was a sign that he was getting over the traveler, when clearly he was just falling deeper and deeper.

But he was content to let them believe what they wanted, just like Demyx was content to believe that Zexion would come back. And, with such renewed faith, the sitarist played on, hoping that one day he would again spot the dark-haired traveler's face in the crowds that trickled in.

-- - --

He carried himself with an air of indifference as always, though inwardly the thought of his calculated steps leading him around Hollow Bastion so soon tore him apart. Book as always perched loyally in hand, pages splayed out as he directed most of his attention on the story unfolding before his eyes, he had to remind himself multiple times in his slow course that he was headed towards the café, not the promontory. He had to retain his dignity, after all, and not be some fool rushing off to grovel before the musician's feet in a spectacular display of helplessness. He would figure this predicament out, decide when the time was right to present himself before Demyx in a reunion of sorts, and all would be carried out calmly and efficiently, no hysterics to hinder either of them.

Thus, it was with fluid movement and carefully averted eyes that he walked now through the town square, in search of the café he'd been trying to relocate for the last hour, derailed in his attempts due to distraction averting his thoughts from the establishment's whereabouts. His boots scraped against cobblestones and his cloak ruffled around his ankles as he glided through the open plaza, and with no real interest he simply walked around, eyes every so often skating his surroundings for any telltale signs of the café, attentions for the most part on Demyx and on his text. It was a frustratingly circuitous path that he'd embarked on, always seeming to end up in the place he'd started in as he progressed, and in time he came to wonder what exactly he was doing, simply walking with a book in his possession and no real desire to either settle down far away from the musician's current location or muster up the strength to visit him.

So, decidedly tucking the book back into his jacket's folds as he heaved a sigh, Zexion glanced up, thinking he'd simply retire in his hotel for the day and try harder to voice his apologies to Demyx the next. Before he could even get several steps away, though, a familiar figure from ahead raced rapidly towards him, and the dark-haired man let his head loll to the side, arms crossed impatiently, he knowing that it would be futile to just walk another way, as the skateboarder stopped himself inches before he rammed into Zexion's chest.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered with a humorless smile, sharp gaze narrowing into slits when he bowed his head momentarily and stomped his foot on to the end of his board, the object flipping up so that his hand stationed it to the ground as he leaned his weight to the right. Arching his brows to indicate even surprise at the blond's words when the teen glanced up once more, Zexion's manner subdued as he watched the agitation in the boy increase, he felt himself quickly boring with the hateful stare he was getting leveled with and glanced over the boy's shoulder, catching sight of a red-haired male he vaguely remembered seeing hang around the youth step closer, malicious grin on his features as he shook his head, arms limp at his sides. "The hell're you doing back here?"

"I wasn't under the impression that I couldn't go wherever I pleased," he mumbled dryly as he flicked his stare back to the person before him.

In contempt, the blond snorted. "You can _go_ where you _want_, but you _can't_ just fuck up lives that are _finally _getting back to normal after days of depression, _dumbass_." To emphasize his outrage, too, he reached up and fisted the front of Zexion's shirt between his hand, the dark-haired man sending him a look of disgust as he edged backwards under the grip.

Still, at his comments, Zexion's heart twisted; his cool mask of indifference didn't reveal his inner turmoil, but inwardly the blond's words scathed his pride. In retort, thus, he said in a clipped tone, "And I suppose a runt like you is going to attempt to convince me to leave, then?"

His words provoked injury to the blond's pride quite obviously, because in no time at all his expression darkened furiously and his forcibly cool manner snapped. "Sonuva_bi_---!"

Before he could lunge, the redhead, with green eyes sparkling quite brightly in amusement, clamped his hand over the boy's mouth and hauled him back, the blond struggling against the hold and clawing at the air as he breathed erratically through his nose. In appearance he was absolutely savage, and Zexion quirked a brow in detached amusement, noting the animalistic way he was still fighting at the bonds of his male friend's arms in an effort to probably either tear out the dark-haired scholar's throat or beat his fists into his frame. He was hardly perturbed by the behavior, however, instead boring of the consistent surges of rage and flicking his gaze upwards into amused emerald.

The redhead grinned at him cheekily, several times wincing as he tried to tame the insanity-plagued youth in his arms. "You'll have to excuse Rox," he replied nonchalantly, voice more of a leer than anything, smug and not holding any sympathy. "He didn't take his medicine today." That prompted a good kick in the shin from the blond, so that the redhead muffled a curse and momentarily glowered at the growling teen. "_Anyway_," the man continued, flicking his green eyes back into Zexion's dark indigo, "he's normally the kind who doesn't give a damn, so sorry, guess he despises you."

Rolling his eyes, crossing his arms carelessly over his chest, he shrugged in response, clearly not ruffled by the behavior. "And I care why exactly?"

Momentarily freeing his mouth from behind the redhead's hand, the blond spat, "There is _no _goddamn _way_ you're stepping anywhere _near _Demyx, you fu---"

"_That's _enough of that," his captor cooed with a large, cat-like grin on his features. "_Easy_, now, Roxas. Maybe _Demyx _wants to beat the shit out of him? Hmm? Ever think of that? So incon_siderate_."

Zexion's brow twitched in agitation. Clearly, Hollow Bastion was the gathering place of all idiots.

Jerking his head away, though calmed slightly, the boy Zexion had been reminded was named Roxas tensed his jaw, flicking his eyes off to the side as he grumbled, "You know Dem couldn't hurt a fly."

Snorting in amusement, the redhead pushed him out of his arms and tousled his hair with affection, and the blond kept his stare pointedly averted, he doing all that he could to forget Zexion's presence. The dark-haired male found that fine, too, he preferring not to have to exchange words with the emotionally unstable brat, and, certain that he wouldn't be stabbed in the back with some conveniently placed sharp object the blond got his hands upon, Zexion turned around, feeling no farewell would be needed seeing as his disappearance wouldn't be missed.

"Guys! Why'd you run ahead! You _know _I'm so much slower with this instrument I have to carry!"

Freezing, the dark-haired man stopped mid-step just as the blond grumbled, "Your loss, Dem. Now let's get going to that stupid café you were tal---"

"Slow your roll, Blondie. Let Demyx catch his _breath_, huh?"

"_Axel_…" Even not facing them, the dark-haired man could sense the anger on Roxas's face, the warning tone enough to absolutely make one's blood run cold. His only response was a chuckle, the redhead no doubt enjoying this perilous game of sorts that he was putting into play.

Hopefully, however, Demyx could remain oblivious, and they truly _would _just walk away. Lord knows that was what Zexion would gladly be doing, if only his godforsaken legs would budge from the spot they held fast to.

"_Thank _you, Axel," the musician claimed indignantly now, the quiet shuffle of his clothes rippling through the air as the dark-haired man listening imagined the youth leaning over. "I mean _jeez_, Rox, you just set off like your tail was on fire. You know how far I had to run? What got you going _anyway_?"

"What indeed," Axel drawled smugly.

"Shut _up_, Axel," the blond growled through his teeth.

There was another softer ruffle of clothing, Zexion this time expecting Demyx to be rising slowly from his bent-over position, sending dubious looks to the pair. Fisting his draping locks nervously, the scholar darted his eyes around, knowing himself to be somewhat concealed by distance and passersby, so he didn't feel like a dimwit just idly standing in place. However, if the three of them didn't depart soon, or if he didn't encourage himself to shift his feet into gear rather than standing around and acting as if he wanted to get caught, he _would _be caught, and he couldn't yet handle that kind of confrontation.

"_Guys_…?" Demyx asked cautiously now, and Zexion closed his eyes, hoping that same kind of freak miracle would distract their attentions and send them in some separate direction than the one he was presently situated in, only several feet ahead of the confused sitarist. "What's _up _with you two?"

"Oh, just a little distracted, I guess," the man called Axel drawled, and the dark-haired male narrowed his eyes, thinking that whatever the redhead had to say would not be beneficial to him in the long run. "You know, taking in the sights and sounds and _people_---"

"Axel, I swear to _God_---!"

"Aren't you an atheist, Blondie?" the redhead laughed, tone joking. "Tell me; how does that work?"

There was a light sigh that belonged to neither of their voices, and then, "You guys are weird," was mumbled by Demyx, the innocent words provoking a smile onto Zexion's lips just barely no matter the gravity of the pressing situation. How his departure could have ever dampened the light spirit of the musician's for so many days, the scholar didn't know; in his opinion, the youth seemed as life-loving as ever, surrounded by friends who would never hurt him.

It made Zexion dread having ever come back.

"Can we _go _now? There's really nothing _redeeming _about standing in the middle of the street looking like a bunch of _morons_, Axel."

The threat was ever present in Roxas's tone, the blond overly anxious to keep Demyx as oblivious to him as was possible, and, staring at the tops of his boots broodingly as he decided it truly was for the best, Zexion began walking, wondering what good he'd done himself in turning around. All he'd achieved was a masochistic kind of relief, pain sparking in the wells of his heart every time he heard the beautifully musical voice of the sitarist whisper against his ears. It was pointless, to come back and expect to reconcile with the youth he'd so callously wounded days before; he would only further muddle the musician's life if he stepped back onto the scene again. So, with firm resolve to leave without being noticed and gradually rid himself of the insistent ties of miserable Hollow Bastion, he took step after calculating step forward, making to put the past behind him once and for all.

"Yeah, all right. Just let me…fix…this sitar here and…"

There was a sigh. "_I _got it, Dem."

"Heh, thanks, Rox. Like Zexion would say," he froze again, eyes uncharacteristically wide, breath hitching in his throat, "I'm so pathetic. Can't do anything---"

"Don't _talk _like that," the blond snapped.

"It doesn't _bother _me, though. It's true!"

"Shut _up_, Demyx!"

"Roxas, calm down. The kid's oblivious anyway."

"Oblivious to _what_? Guys, this isn't funny. I _hate _it when you leave me in the…" There was a long, painful, drawn out pause, and Zexion fisted his hands, hoping against all hopes that Roxas had for some reason clamped his hand over the musician's mouth, perhaps to get him to stop talking. "…dark." Swallowing, immensely frustrated that his shallow wish had not been granted, he squared his shoulders and continued walking, pace fast, head bowed as his narrowed gaze focused on the cobblestones. "Z-Zexion?!" Jerking to a stop again, he tilted his head exaggeratedly to the side, closing his eyes tightly as he gritted his teeth, hating the human instinct that forced him to react at his name's call. If only he could've been more detached than this; then he wouldn't have cared that Demyx's voice had even sounded at all, wouldn't have felt anything at the innocent air and sweet sound his words made. He could've been gone by now, having never been discovered at all.

"Zexion, wai---!" When his voice was cut off, the addressed man curiously turned around for the first time, catching through the thin threads of walking pedestrians Roxas clamping onto the musician's arm with furious determination, eyes downcast at the incredulous youth's look, teeth clenched.

"Don't," the traveler heard him mutter, and he flicked his eyes to gauge Demyx's reaction, catching sight of Axel rolling his eyes to the heavens as he ran his hand through his fiery locks helplessly. Demyx, on his past, looked entirely bewildered, undecided between the emotions of anger and understanding. "He'll hurt you," Roxas insisted, glancing up with flashing eyes, the will to protect his friend noticeable even from Zexion's distance. It seemed odd to him, that so suddenly the blond was acting on a whim rather than being apathetic to all situations, but perhaps things Zexion had missed while he was away had changed the blond for the better; it was doubtful, but not impossible. "He doesn't deserve your stupid, forgiving heart, remember? He's just a nobody who doesn't care for you as a person, Dem. He doesn't _deserve _you!"

Grinning easily enough, patting the reluctant blond on the head with his free hand, he laughed softly. "Thanks, Rox, but I _can _take care of myself, right?" The blond muttered some intelligible something, but Zexion would bet everything that the teen was disagreeing with the musician's words; after all, he had a hard time believing them, himself. "'sides. You gave _Sora _a second chance, right?" he commented lightly, confirming the dark-haired male's suspicions of the boy.

"It's _different_," he muttered stubbornly, though now he was staring awkwardly at his feet, hand suddenly ripping away from its hold on the sitarist's arm. "But whatever. Go get hurt again. I don't care."

Demyx fumbled for words, Zexion narrowing his eyes curiously as the musician lifted his hand and hesitated, lips moving but no speech stumbling forth, and finally his pains were relieved when Axel gave him a teasing push to the side, resting his hand playfully on the grumbling Roxas's head, ruffling his locks of hair. Saying nothing, though jerking his head in the direction the dark-haired male was currently standing in, the redhead slowly wrapped his arms around the seething blond still agitated by Demyx's decided course of action, resting his chin on the top of Roxas's skull.

And then, needing no other form of encouragement, it seemed, the sitarist waved eagerly and jogged off in Zexion's direction; stepping back uncertainly, watching as Demyx neared where he stood and then slowed his pace, troubled look crossing his features, the scholar stayed stiff in attention as finally the musician kept at an uneasy walk, taking his time in coming before where Zexion stood. Turning his head away, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to ease his discomfort, the dark-haired man avoided Demyx's face entirely, not wanting to see the pain he'd caused the youth still lingering in beautiful sea green eyes.

Footsteps stopping, the sitarist fumbled with his hands, pulling once at the sleeve cloaking his left arm. "I…" he finally began, voice timid, meek, "I thought you said you weren't co---"

"I lied," was his terse reply, and then silence dropped between them, effectively smothering any words Demyx might have been meaning to say, swallowing up all good intentions and heartfelt apologies and leaving nothing but raw, throbbing tension. It was near unbearable, and in discomfort Zexion closed his eyes, waiting for retreating footsteps; that or the accusations that were due to him.

Still, silence remained dominant in the space between them as the traveler memorized the blackness meeting his eyes, the discomfort brushing insistently against his consciousness and begging for a change of pace.

"I…don't think you did," the dirty-blond murmured at last, and in surprise Zexion glanced over at him, lips slightly parted, eyes widened a fraction as he blinked.

Tilting his head, closing his eyes as he grinned somewhat hesitantly, Demyx then shrugged. "No, I think you had every intention of leaving and never coming back," he replied, sounding thoroughly convinced with his assessment; teeth gritting, Zexion was reluctant to admit that he was right. "You changed your mind," he continued, blinking open his eyes once more, confident grin gentling into a smile. "Why?"

Tossing his head in agitation, turning his body away from the musician, the dark-haired man replied nothing, not wanting to appear an emotional basket-case in front of the other male. Instead, he grunted noncommittally and shifted his feet, instincts screaming to move his feet and start walking once more, his body protesting against his better judgment.

And before he could fully make up his mind, Demyx gently touched his shoulder, causing his head to whip towards the youth's face as the dirty-blond beamed somewhat, smile twitching and widening as his sea green gaze darted over Zexion's countenance, searching. Head tilting finally, he gave a soft laugh. "It's because you care, right? Even though you won't say it?"

"You're an idiot," he grumbled reproachfully, expecting shock, expecting injury to register from his words; but that stupid smile never fell, and the scholar honestly felt somewhat scared, because he didn't want to agree with Demyx's words. "I just came back. I'm allowed to take whatever course I please."

"But you never go to the same town twice," the musician playfully chided him now, confident grin on his features, and Zexion scowled in disdain. "You don't have to be ashamed of not hating me, y'know."

That he knew, but it was so much more than simply not hating the musician. It was the fact that just being in the youth's presence now – dark eyes caught up in a mesmerizing spell, skin aching for just a simple touch from the sitarist's skilled fingertips – so affected him, clouding his mind with foreign desire; it scared him, because it was testament to the fact that he cared more about one human being than he'd ever wanted to, and it made him wonder about the dangerous possibilities of his actions ever bringing the dirty-blond harm. Already he'd broken Demyx's heart; he didn't want to again.

"It's not shame," he replied simply now, trailing his gaze away so that he wouldn't be tempted to speak truthfully with those sea-glass gems focused so intently on his countenance. "I don't care whatsoever. You've been made delusional by your optimism, thinking that I would ever be concerned enough with your well-being to come back. I simply felt that something was…missing. That is all, simply put."

The last bit wasn't a lie, he assured himself, but his shoulders didn't relax any from his frustration directed towards his dishonesty. Only when Demyx's fingertips rested against his jaw-line near his chin and guided his head to face forward did his body slump any in relaxation, eyes fighting not to focus on the musician's face but inevitably looking up as seconds passed in insatiable curiosity. And the sitarist was smiling, regarding him calmly.

"You can't look at me when you're lying, you know," he teased playfully, and Zexion started in shock, unable – or unwilling – to pull away from Demyx's hold on him.

Sighing, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to press against the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, the dark-haired man shrugged. "Go away, Demyx. The blond brat's right. I'll hurt you again. I'm unreliable and---"

Placing his fingertips on Zexion's lips, Demyx beamed when the scholar blinked his eyes open in surprise, shaking his head. "No."

Narrowing his eyes, he growled sharply, "_Demyx_---"

"No, Zexion. I want to be with you, and frankly you're being stupid. I mean, you're just pushing down your feelings when really you just won't admit that you care about me as much as I care…about you." Ducking his eyes down sheepishly, quite obviously having lost the confidence that had filled him so surprisingly for the whole time he was actually ordering Zexion around, the sitarist chewed on his lip, lowering his hands sheepishly to fumble with the cloth of his shirt. "U-uh…I…don't get mad, Zexion. I just…I thought it needed to be said and I---"

"If I _stay _here," he drawled, holding his hand up to cut the musician off, finding it near impossible to press down the smile fighting to flit across his lips at the sitarist's look of open-mouthed shock, "then what, Demyx? Your friends clearly do not like me, as has been established," the musician ducked his head down and grinned sheepishly as he rubbed at the base of his skull, "and I'm sure apartments are too expensive here for me to afford."

"You can live---!"

"I _will_ not live with you yet, Demyx," he drawled wryly, arching a brow, shaking his head as the optimistic light provoked by his fix-all solution faded from the youth's countenance. "We're not even certain how long this…fling between us will last."

"…is _not _a fling," the youth muttered softly, and then he sighed, tilted his head, and gave a short laugh. "And why do you think things through so much, Zexy?"

A brief thrill rushing through his body at the name, the dark-haired male snorted derisively, inclining his head only slightly as the bangs veiling his right eye brushed against his skin. "Because apparently I care."

Enthusiastically Demyx grinned at him, stepping forward to intertwine their hands, instigating the smallest form of affection the musician could manage, most likely not wishing to scare Zexion away again. Of course, despite his words and constant warnings, the dark-haired man doubted that happening, and so he took the liberty of freeing his hands to fist them into dirty-blond locks of ridiculously styled hair, identifying the smiling youth before him as _his _Demyx, and moved to claim musical lips possessively, so that, for a rare occasion, the rest of the people surrounding them could identify him as such, too.

There was smug, slow applause in the background, Axel giving cheeky catcalls, but before Demyx could pull away in embarrassment Zexion captured his stuttering lips again, gloved hand stroking against the musician's flushed cheek as he slowly relaxed. And he felt content to just live in the moment, as always ready to forget the past, where he'd been nothing but a wanderer, visiting from town to town without ever looking back.

Now, he was home, and he didn't think that such a thing was soon to change.

-- - --

End of part three. Yay! This horrendously long story of doom is complete, with a rather corny ending to top it off. (sigh) Well, here's hoping you'll enjoy and review.


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